Heart of Ice
by Midwinter Sun
Summary: Bella isn't surprised when she and Edward are thrown into the Games. They have been close to death before; survival is second nature. But as the Capitol reveals their plans for this year, and as a vampire underground drafts her against her will, the stakes become higher than Bella could have possibly imagined. Winner of an Energize WIP Award; Most Promising Crossover.
1. The Reaping

_**EDIT: This has been nominated for the Energize WIP Awards! There is a link on my profile if you want to vote. Voting ends March 20, so don't forget to vote soon.**_

Twilight die-hards: although this replaces Breaking Dawn, Bella and Edward are only seventeen. Don't shoot me.

Also, please forgive the Purple Prose (TV Tropers will know what I mean).

* * *

_The_**_ Reaping_**

* * *

_"Change me." _

My voice cracks as though my throat is parched and I've been screaming. I prop myself up on my elbow. My eyes examine Edward's perfect face one last time, searching for relent and pity. I find none. He scans me slowly before tracing his ice-cold fingers down my cheek. I shiver, though I've long become inured to his frigid touch. His black eyes frighten me today more than usual. Perhaps I'm worried that, in the panic and horror of today, he'll lose control. He shakes his head. For a moment, I wonder if he's answering my unspoken question.

"No, Bella. It's too dangerous," he replies.

"Edward, please. You said you'd do anything to protect me."

"Rob you of your soul?"

He hates himself more than ever for allowing this to happen to us. I can't stand seeing him hurt himself like this. I bolt upright, suddenly furious.

_"No!" _I yell at him, hoping I don't wake any of the others. Well, they're not sleeping, so I guess that's impossible. "You are _not _a monster! _They're _the monsters, Edward! They take children to use in their games. They watch people die for fun. You're no monster... you, Esme, Alice, Emmett, Rosalie, and especially Jasper. You sacrifice what you need to _live _so that people won't die... they kill for fun!"

Edward rests his hand on my shoulder. "Bella, you know I'll never let anything happen to you."

"Even today, when one of their bullets could kill even you?"

He doesn't reply, only gazes at me sadly. His eyes say everything. _We're not supposed to be here. _

Volterra was bombed years ago, and vampire clans have been slowly hunted, by humans, off the face of the planet. Even the conspiracy theories have died. Finally, he says,

"Let's hunt." We slip outside.

Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is usually _crawling _with coal miners heading out to morning shift at this hour. Their faces are plastered with dirt, scars covering their hands and face. Even Edward, after his time in this outlying district, no longer possesses the perfection I once adored him for. I've become accustomed to it. But today the streets are empty. Of course. The Reaping isn't until two. Most people take it as an opportunity to sleep in. The coven takes it as an opportunity to hunt.

It's early morning; the sun hasn't risen yet. Edward is a bit luminescent, though it isn't enough to notice. I used to find it funny that vampires, the all powerful creatures of the night, who could rip apart trees and stop cars with their bare hands, sparkled. Not anymore. There isn't any beauty in the Seam. Nothing's shiny, nothing gleams. Except my vampire family.

We live near the edge of the Seam. We only have to glide past three houses, the Everdeens' and two more, to reach the field known as the Meadow. It's nothing compared to where Edward and I used to spend our days. The grass is tall and chaffy, like straw. Sometimes, during the spring, we like to pretend that we're back home, he letting me trace patterns on his face as he gleams like a thousand diamonds. That era is over. Our meadow is underwater.

Separating the Meadow from the woods is a high chain-link fence, enclosing the entire District, with barbed wire protruding from the top. It's meant to be electrified twenty-four hours a day to keep away predators in the woods— wild dogs, cougars, bears, mountain lions, and nomadic vampires, though the latter would have no trouble— that used to threaten our streets. Edward says it's meant to keep us in as much as to keep things out. Then again, we're lucky to get two or three hours of electricity in the evenings. It's usually safe. Edward doesn't pause to listen. He wraps his arms around me, sweeping me off my feet, and leaps into the air, clearing it by at least ten feet.

Trespassing is illegal, not that we really care. So is vampirism, which is rare but a commonly known fact. They've developed a sort of "cure" for it, and any vampires who don't turn themselves in immediately are subjected to it and publicly executed. It's rare, these days, but the Cullens have been more careful since Carlisle's death. He was burned and blown to bits in a mining explosion. It reminded us that even the ageless are mortal. Some nights I still wake up screaming for him to run.

Last fall, as I've been told, a few souls snuck into the woods to gather apples. I arrived in the winter and tried to find what was left, but the dead plants reminded me all too much of when Edward had abandoned me in Forks. Alone. I shiver even now, with my hand in his. The depression has returned.

Most of the Peacekeepers pretend not to know about Edward's hunting abilities. Humans prefer their game without blood. Vampires prefer to drain that blood themselves. He sells the meat. It keeps us alive and keeps our cover. I know I would be executed for interaction with Mutts, or Mutants, as they would be called. Some people have guessed the truth. I'm sure we'd all be dead if it weren't for Alice's foresight and Edward's telepathy.

In the woods we can be ourselves. I can feel myself relaxing already. I sigh. Edward smiles. My pace quickens. I'm anxious to get to the our place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley, where I can be certain that no one is watching. A thicket of berry bushes protects it from unwanted eyes. When we reach it, Emmet is already waiting.

"Hey, Bella, Edward." He grins. "Look what I shot." He holds up a piece of bread with an arrow stuck in it. I know he doesn't need it, and the gesture makes my eyes water. I haven't tasted real food in ages. I know it was meant to make me laugh, and I begin to feel guilty. Either way, he tosses it to me. This is _real _bread, _bakery _bread, not the dense loaves Esme desperately tries to make me eat. I take it in my hands and I pull out the arrow— really just a sharpened stick, and smell it.

"My gosh, is this real?" I question, my mouth watering. He nods. "What did it cost you?"

"Rosalie got it. Managed to coerce the old man into giving it to her. . . wonder how."

I nod anxiously, my teeth ripping into the crust. It's soft and buttery. Emmet grins and disappears into the woods. I'm alone with Edward again.

"Why do you think—" I begin.

"We're worried about you. You're depressed again, and shallow. She says you look like you did when I left you."

I examine my skin. I'm a bit more tan than usual from all of the sun. I feel the bruises underneath my eyes and can tell how my ribs show through my skin. Everyone in District 12 is this thin, though. It's not a big deal, is it? I wish Edward would just bite me already. I could help defend us if we ever needed to. Three vampires were executed— Garret, Peter, and Charlotte, all old friends of my family— last month in the public square. It happens about once a month. But surely we'd be safer in numbers?

Suddenly, Edward leaps into a tree, after a bird. There aren't many large animals out here, and he isn't comfortable hunting anything that big with me still around. He could still lose control, despite everything we've been through together. He snatches his prey out of the air. I half-laugh. He gnaws into it and tosses it aside. It was disturbing at first. He's unwilling to leave my side in the turmoil that is Panem, so I've had to become accustomed to watching vampires hunt. It almost began to seem like a game after a little while, especially after encounter humans doing the same. Edward tried to teach me to shoot, but I fumbled too much with the carefully carved bow he gave me.

A deer darts out of the woods, away from something. Someone else lost their catch. Edward takes his chance and attacks it. I hear an angry female voice in the distance. Well, at least _someone's _enjoying it. The deer's dead in seconds. After all this time, I still feel a bit guilty. Blood or no blood, it'll earn good money at the Hob, District 12's black market.

"Venison," he reminds me, sensing my discomfort. I groan. If this is the price for Edward, I'll pay it. It still makes me sick.

A few birds and an angry mountain lion later, his eyes have returned to their liquid gold. He leads me back towards our place. It reminds me too much of our meadow to ignore. We relax there until I feel calm again. The sun passes from behind the clouds and suddenly he's gleaming. I gaze at his now sparkling figure, now nostalgic for the beauty that surrounded my time. I miss being clean. I miss Charlie and Mom and Jacob. I'll never see them again. Life will always be like this.

We recline in the soft grass. I gaze into the expanse of the sky and pretend for a moment that I'm home again. Edward and I lay apart from each other, just relaxing, his fingers still intertwined with mine. I would be happy to lay here forever. But the world isn't like that. The reaping is today, whether I want it to be or not. It is just like before. He's shocking, his pale white skin literally sparkling in the sunlight, like thousands of diamonds glittering as if imbedded in his skin. He's like a statue, the gorgeous renaissance variety, his entire body too perfect to not be sculpted. It's as though he's carved in some unknown stone, marble smooth, too beautiful to have been discovered yet.

Except Panem had discovered it. It's called Vespillian, and it's an element of its own. It couldn't be manufactured and was "useless" to them.

I bask in the sun, the air crisp. Panem does have some beauty, I supposed. I curl up, gazing at him for seemingly hours. He knows how much I enjoyed doing so. I'm afraid that he will fade, nothing more than a mythical imaginary friend. The gentle breeze ruffles my hair and his. It's the only thing that separates him from a well-carved rock. Even so, he's magnificent. I have to laugh at myself. I never seem to get over it. I glanced away for a brief moment.

"We could do it, you know," he suddenly whispers quietly, breaking the spell. He had almost convinced me that he was a rock.

"What?" I question.

"Take off, live in the woods."

I don't know how to respond. The whole idea is ridiculous.

"If we didn't have everyone else," he adds quickly.

I wish it could be that simple. But the fact is that the Cullen coven is too large for that. The District is small; everyone would notice. They'd send a hovercraft for us. Edward, Esme, Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, Emmet— all executed. My life would be spared, but I would be sent to the Capitol and have my tongue cut out. Maybe, if I was lucky, one of the Cullens would have bitten me by then so I could die, too. I used to think that a life without Edward would be so completely pointless. I was so wrong. It _was _completely pointless. There was nothing worth living for in the whole of Panem save love.

"What do you want to do?" I ask hesitantly. He turns towards me, his face still sparkling with the light of a million diamonds, casting rainbows onto my face. He grins.

"What do you think?"

He cups his hand to my face, the sun glistening off of my skin as well. The light embraces me. He still glimmers with all the sun's radiance. I stroke his shimmering hand as I had all those months ago. He presses his flawless lips to mine briefly. I'm shocked, as usual. I glance down. With his hand on mine, I look almost like I'm sparkling, too. I remember the last time in our meadow. His golden eyes mesmerized me, as they do now.

"You're afraid, Bella," he whispers. I shiver. He exhales, his sweet scent making my mouth water. I leaned in, but unlike last time he doesn't shoot away from me. I lean my head on his shoulder and sob. I know I'm going to be picked, I have to be. It's only my luck. It's like one of those cruel jokes. I should laugh at it, now. I can never have my forever with Edward; the universe doesn't work that way. Then he shot away from me, grabbing a branch from a tree.

"... Edward?.."

He did this our first time in the meadow. He was trying to scare me away. This time he only grins as he effortlessly snaps it in half. He is back next to me in only half a second, presenting me with the remains of the branch.

"I won't let them hurt you." He takes a rock from next to him and crushes it in between his fingers. His velvet voice makes me shiver uncontrollably, despite his attempting to comfort me. Everything is... wrong. He glances in the sky.

"It's time to go."

Edward has adapted well to life in the wild. He instantly learned hunting— for humans but not _for _humans— to keep me alive, and has become accustomed to telling time by the sun. Something about this rural life suits him. I'm far too clumsy for this "lifestyle." I want more than anything to work in the mines, it ought to help, but everyone tells me it's too dangerous. I think all of us are traumatized after what happened to... Carlisle. I force myself to think the name and swallow.

The two of us stand. As we make our way out of the woods we gather a bit. When we first made it to Panem, my vampire family had insisted that I learn a few survival skills. I could barely manage a simple trap at first, and I would've taken Jasper's head off if he was human. But Emmett was originally from the wild, and Jasper was from the West. They taught me to handle a knife and handle it well. It's the one thing I can do without seeming clumsy, except for bow hunting, which is a sort of hidden talent of mine. In the end, I was one of the better hunters in the family, although I did it with an arrow, not my teeth. Today, though, I only gather berries, herbs, and a couple of squirrels that crossed my path.

On the way home, we stop by the Hob. Edward had been cautious with me going in there at first, but now he's confident that, even if they _did _realize what he was, they wouldn't turn us in. I'm sure some would be terrified, but the legends of murderous vampires have faded and morphed into the myths of the lithe and elegant ageless, so envied and loathed by the Capitol. The girl next door to us and my school friend, Katniss, knows of Edward's "nature." She hates the Capitol and sees hiding my family as a form of small scale rebellion.

The Hob is an abandoned warehouse near the edge of the Seam. When they realized that it was more efficient to transport coal directly from the mines to the trains, the place slowly, as I've heard, became breeding ground for outlaws, smugglers, and anyone else out for themselves. Eventually it became a black market. Most businesses are supposed to be closed by now, but not so the Hob. It isn't as crowded as usual, though, as most are still submissive to the government. But Edward and I don't role over and play dead. Today we trade about a gallon of blackberries and three birds for a soup from Greasy Sae, the bony old woman who I can't seem to get along with. Today she seems in a better mood, despite the murky black cloud lingering over the District. She takes half of the greens off our hands in exchange for a few chunks of paraffin and a bowl of soup. We might do a tad better elsewhere, but Edward says it's best to stay on good terms with her. She's the only one in the Hob who consistently sells great beef, although I suspect it _might _be something else.

I head over to the mayor's house. The sun is out from behind the clouds and is high in the sky; Edward's cap isn't enough to hide the sun from his face. I know that they have frequent visitors, just like during Girl Scout season back home, but Madge and I have been good friends for awhile. I beg Edward one more time for immortality on the way. Even if it's too late for the change to take place, at least I could miss the Reaping. Edward had gathered a basket of blueberries, knowing that the mayor adored all things wild. His favorites are strawberries, but half the town will be trying to sell them today. Madge cracks open the door to see who it is. Most people expect her to be a snob— I expected her to be a Jessica— but a disrespected father and a constantly ill mother have granted her tenderness and modesty. She's more of an Angela. We're in the same grade in school, and we seem to end up in a lot of classes and activities together. Ever since I encouraged Edward not to form the "Cullen table" at lunch, we've sort of formed a group of friends. She, Katniss, and I are the quietest of the lot. We're friends nonetheless.

Today her drab school uniform has been replaced by an elegant dress, her blonde hair curled and pinned up around her face. She's used a bit of dried strawberry powder for makeshift blush and a few other substances I can't identify around her lips and eyes. Reaping clothes, I realize with dismay.

"Pretty dress," I awkwardly comment. She shoots me a look.

"Mom wanted me to look my best in case I ended up going to the Capitol. But _obviously _that isn't going to happen." She rolls her eyes at an unseen person. Someone else must have commented on it when she told them that. She won't have signed up for any more name entries. Neither have I, so I don't comment. I shrug and offer her the blueberries.

"How much?" Madge inquires.

"Just the usual price."

Her eyes flash to meet mine and I realize that she's been crying. I don't know her to be a sensitive girl, but the aura of unease settling over the land like a deadly mist sends everyone into a cold panic. My emotions have been more volatile than ever. I sigh as she passes the coins into my hands. I finger them briefly before tucking them into my pocket. I wave goodbye and turn away home.

I wonder who had taken a stab at her wealth. I know they were right, but that doesn't mean what they said was right. The reaping system is unfair, with the poor getting the worst of it. You become eligible for the reaping the year you turn twelve. That year your name is entered once. When you turn thirteen, it's entered twice. And so on and so on until you reach age eighteen, the final year of eligibility, when your name goes into the pool seven times. That's true for everyone in all twelve districts of Panem.

But there's a catch. Say you're poor and starving and have nothing to keep you alive. You can opt to add your name in more times in exchange for something called tesserae. Each tessera is worth a meager year's supply of oil and grain for one person. You may do this for each of your family members as well. So, at the age of twelve, my friend Katniss had her name entered in four times: once because she had to, and three for she, her sister Prim, and her mother. And the entries accumulate. So if you do this every year, you'll eventually have your name in the pool forty or fifty times. I think Katniss has her's in at least twenty times. But, if you're rich, though, you have no reason for this. So your name only goes in a maximum of seven times.

I have a feeling that Gale Hawthorn, a frequent seller to them, was the one who set her off. He sits with us every day. Although he keeps quiet, Edward tells me about the rants he has in his head over the Capitol, which he never thinks without a swear word or two in front of it. Madge probably made him jealous. She's never been at risk of needing tessera, and the chance of her name being drawn is minuscule compared to those of us who live in the Seam. Not impossible, but very slim. Even though the rules were set up by the Capitol, not the Districts, and certainly not Madge's family, it's hard not to resent those like her, even for me. I may not have to sign up, but I'm far from well-off.

Edward would probably resent her, too. Some days, deep in the woods, I listen to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery to our district. He used to consider himself a monster by nature, and to see human beings acting like Volturi really makes him smolder underneath his icy cold skin. He is usually furious at himself for getting us into this, at the Capitol for setting up these horrors, at Carlisle for dying, at Carlisle for making him immortal, at God for creating vampires, at God for creating man, at nature for evolving vampires, and at nature for evolving man. He isn't really sure what he believes anymore, but I think he prefers to believe in a Creator if only for someone to be angry at.

At home, I find the Cullens ready to go. Esme wears a fine silk dress— one that she refuses to sell because of its sentiment— from the days when Carlisle was still employed in apothecary. Although doctors receive few customers because of their high prices— not to mention the cost of medicines— apothecaries are our healers. Carlisle had often used hunting as an excuse to gather herbs. They had made good money this way, until the Capitol ruled that these unapproved shops were illegal. With the exception of poaching, we strictly followed the rules in those days. Carlisle, Emmett, and Jasper began working in the mines while Edward and I began our work at the Hob.

Alice and Rosalie wear slightly ruffled cotton, loose in the skirt and gathered at the hips. They've both managed to make themselves look stunning. They've decked it with something that looks like a mixture of small pinecones and buttons. Although it's dirty, their senses of fashion have overcome, even in these hard times. Edward, Emmett, and Jasper wear the same white that is customary on reaping days. It doesn't suit them.

A tub of lukewarm water waits for me in my room. I scrub off the grime of the woods as best I can and run a brush through my hair before pinning it back. It takes a few stumbles with it before I manage. Even then, it's not my best work. To my surprise, a lovely blue dress is left out for me with matching shoes. I look mediocre at best, although Edward continues to insist that I look beautiful.

"Are you sure?" I ask Esme, stepping outside. I hate it when people give gifts to me, and this is something special. I know anything that Carlisle gave her is special to her.

"Of course," she replies slowly, as though every word pains her.

"Let's put your hair up, too," Alice offers. She pins my hair, a special sort of style, folded upwards onto my head and braided. She says it's what I would've worn for my wedding if we'd ever had it. It only takes a few seconds.

"Thank you," I manage, staring at myself in the cracked mirror. I don't look nearly as out of place among the vampire coven today, although my plain face refuses to change at all. But something about my blue dress brings out the brown in my eyes.

"You look beautiful," says Edward, standing next to me. I give him a quick hug. I know he's worried about me. The unthinkable can and will happen to anyone. I wonder if I'd be more protected as a vampire. Suddenly I think of something.

"Edward, how are you going to... they're going to try and take blood!" I gasp. He shrugs.

"Venom will work if I mix it with something red. It still has our DNA," Alice explains.

_Leave vampire things to vampires, _I chide myself.

I'm not hungry for lunch, and as I'm the only one who actually needs it I don't eat anything. I let myself panic instead. We sit on our beds, unmoving and silent. My vampire family reminds me of statues when they're like this. They neither blink nor breathe, and they don't adjust their positions. They look like exquisite sculptures, the perfect lifelike variety, as they recline like fossils from Pompeii, forever frozen in time. My breathing accelerates rapidly. What will happen if one of them is chosen? The Capitol would find out about their vampirism and execute them on the spot. I start clench my fists to keep from shaking. The adrenaline courses through me. I try to hold still, but it physically pains me to hold still. My legs quiver despite my efforts, each jerk of the leg painful from the way my muscles tense. I'm having a panic attack.

Jasper is by my side in an instant. "Bella, Bella, stop," he interrupts me, his words pouring out of his mouth like sweet honey. His words make fear physically impossible. Calm spreads over me. I shiver. "Do you think we'd let anything happen to you?"

Edward wants more than anything to help, but he knows that Jasper's influence over emotion is what I need right now. I have been staring down at my hands, which are resting in between my crossed legs. I glance up at him, my eyes watering. "But the Peacekeepers. . ."

"They won't be a threat, not with us."

"They executed an entire coven last month, just for what they were..." All vampires rely on animal blood now. It's unacceptable to risk human life when they're the ones actively hunted. They were like the Cullens, attempting to erase the red off of their record. And they were killed just for their species...

"Three. _Three _vampires. How many of us are there?" he asks, trying to reason with my emotion.

"Sev—" I cut myself off. "Six."

Jasper nods. "Six. There are six of us, Bella."

It's not really me I'm worried about, though. They prick your finger at the Reaping to test your identity. What if Jasper loses control? What then? What if... Edward would read his mind and hold him back. Alice would see before it happened. Emmett would be present, and I don't think anything could get past him. But Edward... I'm going to prick _my _finger, too. And under all of that pressure, will he snap? He's already struggling enough.

I glance at Edward. He studies my face, and I can tell that, in this moment, he hears my thoughts as clearly as a bell. I want more than anything to increase that number two seven. And I wish so much that it would be eight, Carlisle still by Esme's side. She gazes into the distance, her face frighteningly blank and her eyes glazed over with sadness, love no longer emanating from her like it once had. Jasper returns to where he was. I hold myself together for another half-hour in silence.

* * *

At one o'clock, we head for the square. Attendance is mandatory unless you're on death's door. This evening, officials will come around and check to see if this is the case. If not, you'll be imprisoned.

It's too bad that they hold the Reaping in the square. It's one of the few places in District 12 that can be pleasant. The square's surrounded by shops, and on public market days, like my first Christmas here, especially when it's either blanketed by snow or warm sun, it has a wonderful holiday feel to it. Today, despite the brightly colored banners and flags hanging and fluttering over the buildings, everything is dull and grim. Camera crews are perched on rooftops, adding to the effect. We're being herded like cattle for slaughter, and they're watching.

It's burning daylight. Before we left, Esme rubbed a sort of cream on her family's faces. It doesn't change their skin tones, but it prevents sparkling. It's odd to see Edward in the sun like this. He's abnormally pale, although most of the community has noticed by now. The cream is rendered unnecessary, though, as clouds settle over the region.

People file in silently and sign in. The Cullens use some sort of slight-of-hand when the officer makes us prick our fingers for identification. The Reaping is a good opportunity for the Capitol to keep tabs on the population as well. Twelve-through-eighteen-year-olds are herded into roped off areas marked off by the ages, the oldest in front, the young ones toward the back. Family members line up around the perimeter, holding tightly to one another's hands. But there are others, too, who have no one they love at stake, or who no longer care, who slip among the crowd, taking bets on the two kids whose names will be drawn. Odds are given on their ages, whether they're Seam or merchant, if they will break down and weep. Most refuse dealing with the racketeers but carefully, carefully. These same people tend to be informers, and who hasn't broken the law? I could be shot on a daily basis for being with Edward, and for my pathetic excuse for hunting, but the appetites of those in charge protect us. Not everyone can claim the same.

Then again, if I had to choose between dying of hunger and a bullet in the head— which I do — the bullet would be much quicker.

The space gets tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrive. I can barely pick out Edward in the crowd, now. He's on the other side of the roped off areas, as boys and girls are kept on separate sides. The square's immense, but not enough to hold our district population of eight thousand or so. Latecomers are directed to adjacent streets, where they can watch the event live on screens as it's televised live by the state. It's like American Idol or SportsCenter, except they're televising the destruction of lives.

I find myself standing in a clump of friends from school. Madge stays right beside me. Normally the huddles of people are divided by wealth, but the advent of the Cullens seemed to change that. They still carry themselves like the incredibly rich, and their low Seam status seemed to change something in my age range. We all exchange terse nods then focus our attention on the temporary stage that is set up before the Justice Building. It holds three chairs, a podium, and two large glass balls, one for the boys and one for the girls. I stare at the girls' ball, my heart heavy. Only a few of them have my name. Only a few have Alice's and Rosalie's. I have six, Alice has six, Rose has seven. But together we have nineteen. Our names are in the pool nineteen times, and, including the boys, thirty-eight. I shudder. The odds are most definitely not in our favor.

Two of the three chairs fill with Madge's father, Mayor Undersee, who's a tall, balding man, and Effie Trinket, District 12's escort, fresh from the Capitol with her scary white grin, pinkish hair, and a spring green suit. Her face looks like plastic, as though she's had too many operations on her face, and her hair curls in unnatural ways until I'm sure it's a wig. Her skin is paler than a vampire's. The two glance at the empty seat in concern before murmuring anxiously to each other.

Just as the town clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. I listen intently. I've only picked up bits and pieces during my time here. He tells of the history of Panem, the country that rose up out of the ashes of the United States and Canada. He lists disasters, droughts, storms, fires, and seas that swallowed up the land, and the war for what little remained. Eventually Panem arose, a "shining Capitol" ringed by thirteen districts, which brought "peace and prosperity" to its citizens. Then came the "Dark Days," the uprising of the Districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee our peace and, as our reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games.

The rules of the Hunger Games are simple, if morbid. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called Tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the Tributes fight to the death until a lone Tribute, now called a Victor, remains. I've gathered this information slowly, but this is the first time I've heard it in its entirety.

I don't care what words they use to justify this; it's wrong. The message is clear. "Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there's nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did in District 13."

To make it worse, the Districts are forced to treat the Games like a festivity. They like to humiliate us as much as they torment us. It's like the football games they had back home, only deadly and hated. The last tribute living is showered with gifts, prizes, and ease. Their District is given food and relieved of starvation.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor. Then he reads a list of the past victors from 12. In seventy-four years, we have had exactly two. Only one is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy. I've never met him, although he has become a source of gossip over the past several weeks. He's a middle aged man, who now appears bellowing something incoherent, staggering onto the stage with the gait of an intoxicated man, and falls into the third chair. He's drunk. Very. The crowd gives a big applause for him. His eyes narrow like a confused toddler, and he attempts to give Effie Trinket a large hug. She fends him off, but only just.

Mayor Undersee looks distressed. This is being televised, so District 12 is likely the laughingstock of the country. Even I'm having trouble holding back my laughter. Haymitch is as pathetic as the girls had said he was. The mayor pulls back everyone's attention to the Reaping by introducing Effie Trinket, who has been a source of gossip all year. She's effervescent, true to the name I suspect her parents were dancing around. She trots to the podium. Her lithe, lively, enthusiastic movements remind me of Alice, but it isn't a natural grace. It's artificial and repulsive.

_"Happy Hunger Games! _And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Her pink hair is definitely a wig, judging by Edwards chortles. It's off center since her encounter with the drunkard. She goes on a little about what an honor it is to be here. She's a worse liar than I am, unless she really is that strange. Her accent is hilarious and frilly, like a bad impression of cockney mixed with the odd inflections of the French. Everyone knows she's only aching to be bumped up to a better District. Some of the girls had spread a rumor that she would, but evidently they were wrong. They don't have victors here, just drunks who assault you in front of the nation.

Through the crowd I find Edward, who gazes at me with the ghost of a smile. I'm shaking now. Alice is by my side already, and she strokes my hand as comfortingly as a vampire can. I wonder if all Reapings are this entertaining, or if it's normally pure horror. My mind snaps like a rubber band back to our thirty-eight names in the glass balls. There are thousands of slips. We'll be fine, we'll be fine. . .

It's time for the drawing, so abruptly. "Ladies First!" she shouts gleefully. Effie Trinket gives a big grin. She lilts in her pink, ridiculous heels to the girls' bulb. She reaches into it, her hand pointing downwards in an odd position. It's like a dance for her fingers, and I wonder if there's choreography involved. As she opens her palms and skims the bowl, I begin to panic again. Alice smiles faintly at me. Her expression says everything. The decision hasn't been made. She doesn't know until Effie touches the slip. Without warning, she does just that, snatching it out of the bowl without questioning her decision. I'm feeling nauseous, desperately hoping it's not me, it's not me, it's not me.

Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smooths the slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice. And it's not me.

It's Alice Cullen.

* * *

_An _**_Author's Note_**

* * *

Any praise, complaints, or constructive criticism (though not necessarily in that order) you have to offer would be much appreciated. Please feel free to flame or review (but I won't respond to flames that don't have a basis in reality).

This fanfiction is going to be long, perhaps over 100,000 words. Two sequels, of even greater length, will follow. I know it's a lot, but I'm asking you to take this fanfiction journey with me. I will write this, and I will not give up. I will update every week, aside from an occasional "dramatic pause" in between cliffhangers (I know, I'm evil).

The next update will be Sunday.

They only take thirty seconds. You don't need to sign in. You don't even need an account. _Review!_

~Sun~


	2. The Goodbyes

_An **Author's Note**_

* * *

Happy Sunday, everyone! I hope you all worked hard last year to earn that short short short Christmas Break! Because now it's months until the next holiday!

Anyways, I'm glad everyone seemed to like my last installment. Not much happens in this chapter. But it introduces plot developments that will last for the rest of the fanfic and its sequels. Also, I'll warn you that I'm not going to jump straight into the Games. I'm following the Hunger Games fairly strictly, but I'm adding a lot and changing even more.

I might add Wednesdays to my update schedule, or at least until the Games start. All in favor of Sundays _**and** _Wednesdays, let me know!

Also, a big thank you to my guest reviewer, Savannah, who has helped me edit and critiqued this entire story. Get an account so I can thank you properly. I couldn't have done it without you!

Without further ado, I proudly present Chapter 2: Goodbyes.

* * *

_The __**Goodbyes** _

* * *

It's like when Edward left. I stumbled through the forest for hours, struggling to remember how to move and breathe and think in coherent words. Every wisp of air from my lungs had faded, and life and meaning had completely ended for me. I couldn't seem to find a reason to live anymore. _Why should I breathe?_ I had wondered.

I've become stronger since then. That's how I feel now, as Alice inhales shallowly, a little determined puff. She whispers an apology to me, so low I'm not sure if I really hear it, and slips into the aisle. I catch Jasper in the crowd, looking devastated beyond belief. I can't breathe or think as I watch her saunter away. The cloud cover will only last so long... and when they check her vitals? They'll find out about the vampires' existence among them and the hunt will again become an active inquisition, like the one that happened no less than ten years ago. I'm sure that other members of our kind throughout Panem would find shelter among close friends, but I know that it would be the end of the Cullen clan.

There must have been a mistake. Alice was just a few names in thousands. We haven't signed up for tesserae. Her chances were so remote... but then again, only as slim as mine. Is this my fault? Have I done something wrong? It always seems to be my fault in one way or another. But why Alice? So many others had such greater chances. I know of one boy who entered more times than my whole family combined. Alice is already marching, emotionless and whiter than bone, lithely as ever towards certain doom.

I suddenly notice Rosalie, staring towards the stage. Edward shoots her a look and shakes his head sadly. She clenches her fists and wails in silent, blonde fury. What had she been thinking? Then it occurs to me. She was going to volunteer. But that wouldn't do anything for the clan. It wouldn't, it couldn't. As much as she wishes she was, Rose isn't human. The Capitol would realize just as quickly that my family isn't what it seems to be. If someone's going to save the Cullens, it would have to be—

Me.

"Alice..." The cry escapes my throat like a whisper, strangled by the wafts of wind like a snake suffocates its prey. My eyes had been completely dry, but as I push my way through the crowd to the aisle, tears start forming. "Alice!.." My voice must be silent. No one hears, or at least they don't care. She spins around, eyes wide, on the verge of shouting for me not to. But I've made my decision. She knows it. One of the Peacekeepers sees and grabs me, holding me back from Alice. I struggle for a moment, trying to push myself forward.

"Bella, n—"

"I volunteer!" I gasp, struggling to escape the Peacekeeper's grasp. "I volunteer as Tribute!"

There's confusion, almost panic, on the stage. The Peacekeeper releases me. This might even be the first time District 12 has had a volunteer, I'm not certain. Either way, the protocol has become rusty. A girl can volunteer for a reaped girl, a boy for a reaped boy, and then they can take the other person's place. In some Districts it's considered an honor to take part in the Hunger Games, people are eager to risk their lives. It's complicated, and multiple people often wish to volunteer. But here in District 12, where Tribute is synonymous with corpse, volunteers are all but extinct.

"Lovely!" Effie Trinket shouts over the roaring silence, her frilly voice so out of place as I face my destruction. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..." she trails off, unsure.

"What does it matter?" the mayor asks. His expression is all but unreadable, but pain registers in his eyes. He doesn't know me, but I'm his daughter's friend. I'm sure Madge spoke of me on occasion. I bring blueberries to his house. I was in the Justice Building after the... accident. And I think he might be in love with Esme, or at least he tries to take care of her. "What does it matter?" he repeats. "Let her come forward."

Alice grabs my hand. "No, Bella. Please." I shake her off of me. "Bella, no..."

"And, we've some drama in District 12..." Effie tries to narrate, failing miserably.

"Alice, let go," I say as harshly as I can.

"Bella, your future is..."

"A clean break, Alice." She widens her eyes. If she could, she would be crying. And this is upsetting me. I can't cry, not if I want a chance of gaining sponsors. When they play the replay of the Reapings tonight, everyone worth gaining the loyalty of would make a note of my tears. I'd be marked as an easy target and a weakling. No one worth attention. "Let go." Her fingers leave mine, her arm falls by her side. Jasper has his hand on her shoulder as he leads her back to where she should be standing. He smiles grimly at me before walking, emotionlessly, away. I climb the steps. Effie's beckoning me.

"Well, bravo!" Effie Trinket gushes, giving a fluttering clap. "That's the spirit of the Games!" She's pleased to have a District with a little action in it.

"What's your name?"

I swallow, forcing it out. "Isabella Swan." Effie narrows her eyes, trying to think of a good response.

"Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest Tribute!" she trills.

To the everlasting credit of District 12, not one person claps. Not even the ones holding the betting slips, the ones who are usually beyond caring. Possibly because they know Edward and I from the Hob, as one of the people their beloved doctor left behind, or they have fallen in love with Alice, who is so dainty and charming that not even a literal rock can help loving her. I feel the inevitable flush in my cheeks as I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone.

All of this is wrong.

Then something odd happens. I don't expect it at the very least, although Edward already must have guessed it was coming. A shift has occurred. I don't know why what I did was so moving. Perhaps everyone knows that I'm not as needed by the lost Esme, or a select few know that I'm doing this to save my entire family. Or maybe they just can't take the Hunger Games any longer. For some reason, District 12 sees me as someone precious. At first one, Edward, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and hold it out to me in salute. It is an old and rarely seen gesture of this District. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

Now the tears are in danger of spilling over my cheeks. If I so much as blink, I'll cry. Fortunately, Haymitch chooses this time to come staggering across the stage to congratulate me. "Look at her! Look at this one!" he hollers, throwing an arm around my shoulders. He's surprisingly steady for such a drunkard. "I like her!" His breath reeks of liquor and it's been a long time since he's bathed. "Lot's of..." He can't think of the word for awhile. "Spunk!" he says. "More than you!" He releases me and starts for the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing directly into a camera.

Is he addressing the audience or is he so drunk he might actually be taunting the Capitol? We never find out, because he plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious. I'm grateful. With every camera trained on him, I release a choke from my throat and compose myself. For a moment I wish we had just taken off into the woods. But what would've happened when Alice's name was drawn? She wouldn't be there either. They would've discovered that we weren't there and sent a hovercraft for us. We could be dead by now.

Effie Trinket tries to get things moving again. "What an exciting day!" she enthuses, again attempting to straighten her wig. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She grabs the first slip she encounters. She zips to the podium. I don't even have time to wish for my friends' safety. "Peeta Mellark."

Peeta Mellark? I've seen him at school. I've spoken to him a few times, though we're not friends. He makes his way towards the stage, ashy blonde hair and all. He staggers onto the stage, eyes watering. He prepares to shake my hand. Then Effie:

"Do we have any volunteers?" she asks. There's a moment of silence.

"Edward, no!" Alice shrieks in a strangled voice. It's too late to convince him. He shoves his way through the crowd. I want to shout at him not to. The whole reason I volunteered was to protect them! Can't he see that! How can he just...

"I volunteer as Tribute," he says flatly, his face expressionless. Peeta is sent off the stage. Edward ambles up and glances at me.

"What's your name?" Effie asks with a beam.

"Edward Cullen," he replies, returning her mock friendliness with the ghost of a smile. Charming as always.  
"That was your sister earlier... well, looks like we have another Cullen Tribute from District 12 for the annual 74th Hunger Games!"

We gaze into each others' eyes for a long time, each second painful. How could he?.. Why would he..? He wants to die. If I'm going to die, he's going to die with me. He just wants to make it easier on himself. I wish I could bring myself to hate him.

"Come on, you two! Shake hands!"

Does she actually think she's reconciling two strangers? Edward, true gentleman that he is, takes my hand and shakes it firmly, without a word. Thus begins the mayor's reading of the Treaty of the Treason. It's a long document, thoroughly boring, full of thees, thous, and henceforwards.

"Furthermore:  
"In penance for their uprising, each District shall offer up a male and female between the ages of twelve and eighteen at a public 'Reaping.' These Tributes shall be delivered to the custody of The Capitol. And then transferred to a public arena where they will Fight to the Death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore, this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games," he finishes.

A shiver shoots down my spine. Edward and I have been standing politely but still like strangers. It's painful as he glares at me like we've never met. It makes sense, if we really were strangers, we'd be thinking about how we were going to kill each other. I'm again reminded of when he left. He's an actor. He told me he didn't love me but, in reality, was pained by every word he said, as he later told me. I now know how dangerous it is to be pulled apart. I jumped off a cliff. He tried to kill himself. Romeo and Juliet. Everything was alright in the end of our story.

But now we're going to die.

The Anthem of Panem, A Horn of Plenty, plays loudly over the setting. It's out of place. Some of the Capitol officials mouth the words, as none of the Districts care for them. It occurs to me that this is the first time I've heard it. I already have a strong hatred for it.

_Oh Horn of Plenty!_  
_A Horn of Plenty for us all!_  
_And when you raise the cry,_  
_The brave shall heed the call,_  
_And we shall never falter._  
_One Horn of Plenty for us all!_  
_Oh Horn of Plenty!_  
_The Horn of Plenty overflows!_  
_And when you raise the cry,_  
_The brave shall heed the call,_  
_And we shall never falter._  
_One Horn of Plenty for us all!_

_Oh Horn of Plenty!_  
_The Horn of Plenty overflows!_  
_And when you raise the cry,_  
_The brave shall heed the call,_  
_And we shall never falter._  
_Oh Horn of Plenty for us all!_  
_Oh Capitol,_  
_Your glorious diamond shine._  
_A Tribute to_  
_The darkest days behind._  
_One Horn of Plenty for us all!_

The moment the anthem ends we're taken into the Capitol's custody. I've unwillingly seen replays of Reapings and Games. Tributes have tried to escape in the past. Peacekeepers swarm around this. I mimic Edward as best I can, expressionless and almost bored, until I find Esme in the crowd. She's wrecked and weepy. Her hand is firmly clasped to her mouth, her eyes are wide. It's the hopelessness in them that stings me. She's lost her husband to the abomination that is Panem. She's losing her son and what might as well be her daughter on the same day. No, I am her daughter. She's as much of a mother to me as anyone.

My eyes are watering severely. Thankfully I'm whisked away into the Justice Building before I can have a full scale breakdown. Edward is by my side instantly, as soon as we're safe from the cameras. Tears begin streaming down my face. I can't help it. I collapse on him, but he, to my surprise, pushes me away. I'm in shock for a moment, but then he's eye-to-eye with me.

"Bella. Stay strong. We can do this, Bella. We're going to be ok. Don't cry. It's going to be ok," he says, but it's more of a command than a comfort.

The Peacekeepers drag me away from him with those words. I'm still crying. One of them smirks at me, but another looks genuinely distressed. They escort me to a holding room. It's more lush and luxurious than I imagined anywhere in Panem could be. There's a desk with several ancient-looking books. Plush sofas deck the room. Pillows softer than the ones back home are everywhere. The floor is marble and the sofas are silken. I sit on one of them, shivering. The room is empty except for me. It seems unusually dim, regardless of the crystal chandelier hanging above me. I'm alone. Suddenly the wooden walls are no longer friendly. It may as well be pitch black. This lasts for several minutes.

Alice and Rose are first to come in. I expected Alice, but Rose? Maybe she has forgiven me. They're furious, and don't waste any time on sentiment. I don't know what I expected, but their coldness is alarming.

"You're future is changing, Bella. I _can't_ see it anymore. It's splitting into a thousand pieces and I don't know how to help you." Her voice is sharp, almost poisonous.

"What futures do you see?" I ask, trembling. She frowns.

"I can't tell you this time, Bella. It's fragile. The chances of you getting out are so slim that anything could change that future. Time can be dangerous," she replies.

"So I don't die?"

"I already told you, I _can't_ see it anymore. Well I can see it. I see something... blurry."

"Blurry." My mind jumps to a particular episode of an old TV show, LOST. "Is blurry bad?"

"It means it's not set in stone. Usually I can see what's going to happen, even if it's not certain. Even if decisions are still to be made, I have a vague idea. But that's the problem. I see nothing. I can't see _anything._"

She glowers at me. I start to feel like her fiery stare is making me smolder under my skin. Rose keeps her gaze to the ground, staring down. She looks weary, defeated. It doesn't suit her. Alice stands still, waiting for my response.

"Alice," I begin.

"It's blurry, Bella. I can't see your future, something's blocking it." She stares straight through me, like she's trying to make out a face in the distance. "I can see something. But..."

A Peacekeeper darts in and grabs Alice with one hand and Rosalie with the other. "It's time for you two to leave."

"No!" Alice complains. She struggles, but doesn't use the force she could. Another Peacekeeper, the one who had smirked at my tears, comes in and wraps his arms around the blonde, noticeably holding her by the waist. He examines her from the bottoms of her feet to the top of her head, eyes lingering for a few seconds on her lips.

Rose growls and shrugs him off of her. The Peacekeeper rolls his eyes, throwing up his hands in exasperation. He doesn't look very sorry. Everyone's breathless from the brief struggle. Rose gazes at me for a few seconds. Then she pulls me into a full scale embrace, her eyes shut as though she's sobbing. "I'm sorry, Bella," she whispers weakly before the Peacekeeper drags them out of the room. Alice smiles at me sadly before the door shuts completely.

Jasper, is a rather unexpected visitor. I thought he would be keeping Esme from falling to pieces. I ask him about Emmett, who is evidently still with his mother and brother. I inquire about Edward. "He's as... good at masking emotions as ever. But he's not very happy."

I nod. The two of us sit in silence for a minute, and I realize that he's holding his breath. If sitting alone in a room with me without killing me is all he can manage, I'll take it. He's keeping it off of his face, but I can tell he's struggling. I stay as still as possible, keeping my heart-rate as low. But something about his presence is calming. "Alice is worried about you," he finally says. "I don't know what she saw, but she's terrified."

"She saw me dying, didn't she?"

Silence. "It's not the first time."

I shrug, clenching my jaw.

"You've been hanging out with vampires for years and _now_ you're developing a sense of self-preservation?"

It's different. I have a feeling that one of them could kill me in a fraction of a second. The Capitol wants me to die a gory death, drowning in my own blood and being strangled in my own entrails, for their enjoyment. They want to feel the satisfaction of my pain-filled screams before I finally go silent. I'm nauseous at the image in my head.

"I'd rather one of you kill me than be in the Games," I manage. He makes a face and looks away.

"I really wish you hadn't said that," he mutters. I wish he would kill me. It's preferable to dying on there terms. It suddenly occurs to me how casually we're discussing my death, as though it's a simple and every day thing. I gulp and change the subject.

"Why did you come to talk to me, Jasper?"

"I wanted to know what Alice isn't telling me."

"Maybe she wants to pretend that nothing's going to happen..."

"Alice doesn't do that, Bella." He's as worried about me as he is about Alice and it's unsettling. I used to think he hated me. _His_ death strengthened the rest of our family. Jasper's gaze suddenly shoots to the door. "I have to go. I'll send Esme. I'm sorry."

The guard bursts through, dragging Jasper out of the room. I mourn his comforting presence. It makes fear impossible, but now I'm about to have a full blown panic attack. I'm quivering, terrified. I look to the door, hoping to hear someone coming for me. I glance at the clock on the wall. I'll see Edward again in less than an hour. I sigh. He'll help, possibly.

Esme steps through the door, as promised. I almost wish she would stay with her son. Am I so selfish to enjoy her company? Yes. I am. Her eyes are black as obsidian. She hasn't had anything to drink in months. Edward says she has no desire. Her face is emotionless, and yet somehow the black in her irises doesn't conceal the agony in her eyes as it should. She sits next to me. As usual, her thirst frightens me. She could lose it at any moment, Edward says. She sits next to me, and suddenly I'm furious with her. I shake her by the shoulders. She is hardly rattled.

"Esme, wake up!" I demand, more forcefully than I thought I would be. It's frightening, looking at someone so empty. Jasper is usually by her side constantly, keeping her from falling to pieces. Katniss once told me she's as bad as Mrs. Everdeen, who lost her husband to the mines, too. I wonder why, in a world with the hovercrafts and trains that fly, people have to die doing work that machines could do. "Esme, just look at me!" I beg "Please!" She sighs and finally consents.

"Bella, I can't. I can't do this..." she says.

"No, you're stronger than this. You are not broken. Your children. They've lost their father. They don't need to lose their mother, too. They need you. Carlisle would want you to take over as head of the family now."

"I—"

"Listen to me." I'm not sure where my strength is coming from. "We're all hurting. It's fine to mourn. But find a life of your own. Your family needs you..."

"What family?! There are only five of us left. We had eight..."

"Five is a family. Get a job. Pick up Carlisle's work."

She shakes her head. "It's illegal."

So is life "Sell the medicines at the Hob." She doesn't respond. "Live in reality, Esme. Edward is going to die. I'm going to die. We won't sell our goods anymore, you won't have as much to pay your taxes."

Suddenly the Peacekeeper who I'm coming to hate is forcing her to leave the room. I know from her expression that Edward already had this conversation with her. I hope the two of us managed to reach her, somehow. She hears, as well as any vampire, but she chooses not to listen. Emotion finally seems to be there, and then I'm sure that I must have made a little impact on her. She covers her mouth with both hands as she leaves. From the sobs I hear outside, I know she's at least partially awake. I hear Jasper and Alice outside with her, trying to soothe her. Then I'm alone for a few more minutes.  
My next visitor is unexpected. It's Madge from school.

"Hello, Bella," she says calmly. I look up at her. She's standing over me, and I can tell that she's not going to sit down.

"Hi, Madge."

"I brought you something." I still hate surprises. Old habits die hard. I'm more than resentful. "They let you wear one thing from your District in the arena. One thing to remind you at home. Will you wear this?" She takes something from her dress and places it in my open palm. She forces my hand closed. When she withdraws, I open my hand and find a circular gold pin. It displays an image of a small bird in flight.

"Your pin?" I squeak. My district token is the last thing on my mind.

"Here, I'll put it on your dress, all right?" Madge doesn't wait for an answer. She leans in and pins it to my dress. "Promise you'll wear it into the arena. Promise."

"Yeah," I manage weakly. Madge leaves. I should have been nicer to her back at school. I was never outright mean, but I should have made an attempt to be her friend.

No one else comes. He would have been next. I can hear his voice in my head, giving me advice, reminding me of who I am, telling me that he knows I would do the right thing. He would have told me that he thought of me as a daughter. He would have told me thank you for trying to save his family, despite Edward's stupidity in the matter. And he would have told me not to lose myself in the Games, but that if the right thing involved murder, then so be it. But he doesn't come. He can't. And it nearly breaks me.

My family is being claimed by the abhorrence that is Panem. I loathe this country. When they discover Edward is a vampire... I honestly have no idea what will happen. Perhaps, with this direct confrontation, he can arrange a truce between our people and theirs. We've done research, and I haven't heard of a single vampire coven that hasn't converted to our way of life. The other way is just too dangerous. With this fact, that vampires aren't harming humans, perhaps our races can live peacefully together. Though I know that the world doesn't work like that...

Then the door opens. My eyes dart up and I nearly scream. The visitor is impossible. A ghost, returned from the dead. But I'm not happy that she's returned for me. Because Jane stands before me.

* * *

She's wide eyed, almost frantic. I'm sure I'm dreaming. I have to be. Volterra was destroyed, along with the Volturi. Jane was among them. She has to be dead. She can't be here. And, more importantly, why is she saying farewell to me? We hate each other. Something else is wrong, too. Her eyes. They're honey-gold. It can't be happening...

Jane notices the shift in my posture. "Bella, I've changed," are her first words to me. I don't know what to say. I'm too shocked, too confused.

"I've noticed," I reply coldly, wishing I could disappear. She strolls over to me casually and sits on the couch next to me, as though I were an old friend of hers. She wears bright colors, the same variety that Effie Trinket might have. She's a member of the Capitol. Her gift must have earned her a high ranking in society.

"I'm here for a reason... And we don't have time for small talk." As if I would want to talk with her. "I'm still a member of the vampire government. There aren't many of us left, and I need your help. We need your help," she begins.

"I'm human. I'm nothing." I don't matter...

"It doesn't matter." What doesn't. That I'm human, or that I'm nothing? "What does matter is that there is a resistance. You and Edward will get close to President Snow many times. Even closer if you win. He's the one killing people. He's... he's gathering vampires, abducting them, and experimenting on them. He wants their venom and immortality." Sounds unlikely. "But there's a resistance movement, just like I said. Bella, I don't have much time. But it's our intention to assassinate President Snow. We need you and Edward to do this for us."

I'm shocked. Genuinely shocked. I almost want to laugh out loud. Here I am, far in the future, being sent to be slaughtered, and being enlisted by Jane of all people to assassinate a president who was born hundreds of years after me. Yippee. "This is a lot to process," I say, not sure how else to respond. "Why me? Why not another Tribute?"

"He has body guards that aren't human and technology that should be illegal. But if you win he will actually put a crown on your head. I'm sure that's close enough for you to strike."

"Why not someone else?" Am I _agreeing _to this? No, no. Just trying to gain information.

"You and Edward know of vampires. And you have something to gain. Something that was lost."

"What—"

"I can't speak anymore about this. But more than just our kind rest on the President's death. They'll find out. They'll hear. But if you kill him..." she pauses. "There is a prize more than life to be won. A prize to some worth to some more than control of Panem itself. This gift will be given to you under the worst of circumstances. And soon after you receive it, you will give it away happily, so you can keep it... you have an important role to play, Bella. It's just not the one you think it is."

I glare at her. "You're not Alice."

Jane smiles. Whoa. I half expected her teeth to be rotting out. "I think I know what I'm talking about when it comes to this. Everything I have said will happen... you may think _it_ belongs to you. But you _will_ lose it if you don't kill the President, even when everything indicates that you're safe. He'll take it from you and you will never be able to have it back."

I notice that we've been inching closer, me turning towards her, she turning towards me. We're facing each other. I'm about to cry for no apparent reason. "Jane..." I begin, about to dismiss everything she's said.

She takes my hands. I glance down at them. She smiles in a genuinely friendly way. "Trust me, Bella. When the time is right... you'll know."

She glances around anxiously.

"Why are you telling me this?" I demand. She stands suddenly, and reappears at the door. The smile on her face is genuine. Warm. Friendly. She says something that I never wanted and never expected to hear.

"Because I care about you, Bella."

With that she's gone.

* * *

_An **Author's**** Note**_

* * *

Too cheesy? Too predictable? Too weird?

Next chapter covers the entire ride to the Capitol. After that, we have: Opening Ceremonies, A Little Fluff, Mystery Chapter, Interviews, Mystery Chapter, **Games. **

Also, to encourage reviews, please include the weirdest fact you can think of in the review section. I'll choose a winner based on whoever wrote the weirdest fact. Winner receives free bragging rights. Remember, you don't need to sign in and you don't need an account. You just type and click a button. That's it.

See you Wednesday!

~Sun


	3. The Passage

_An__** Author's Note**_

* * *

Okay. Sorry I'm publishing this so late, but I promised I'd publish on Wednesday, so I'm publishing on Wednesday. Today was just a lot busier than I had expected.

Happy Wednesday, everyone! We're halfway to the weekend! And, if it isn't Wednesday for you, then happy today!

Also, very sorry for the typos in here. I haven't had time to give it a full edit. Just a quick read-through.

Without further adue, I present Chapter 3: The Passage.

* * *

_The __**Passage**_

* * *

It's a short journey from the Justice Building to the train station. I'm reunited with Edward in the car, though Effie sits between us. Neither of us speak. I keep glancing out the windows, looking for an opportunity to escape. I haven't been in a car for such a long time. I've almost forgotten how to fasten my seatbelt. Effie shows me with a gleaming fake smile. She's even paler up close. If she were attractive in any way, she could be a vampire. She wears at least an inch of make-up. It's like has a fake face.

"You two are in for a treat. Crystal chandeliers, platinum doorknobs. And it flies. We'll be at the Capitol in less than a day."

I was right to avoid crying. The station is swarming with reporters— all frilly and ridiculous— who have all of their cameras trained on my face. I've always thought that I naturally look a bit emotionless. I usually hate it. I look dead or... something. People have to get to know me to have any idea what my emotions might be. I'm grateful for it now. I catch a glimpse of myself on one of the screens in the area. It airs my arrival live. I almost appear bored. That should make me look brave. I'm glad, not that it shows.

Edward has the same look on his face. He looks clean of all emotions, like his long-dead heart has finally stopped caring. It disturbs me at first, how he can so easily look like this, but I remember from experience that he's simply an actor. He had told me with such ease that he didn't love me, and I had believed him.

Effie escorts us. They march us to the same destination, a little platform at the station. We stand in the doorway for several minutes. The place reminds me of a jet bridge in an airport, in function, shape, size, and quality. It's odd, the feeling before moving from one region to the next. Edward and I don't speak, as we're not yet alone. I force myself to act coldly to him. We're around the cameras. If we showed affection we could be marked as an easy target. I don't expect to survive, but I don't want to die just yet.

We're then allowed inside, the doors closing behind us.

Stepping onto the train is like seeing color for the first time. Seeing light for the first time. Crystal glasses of liquids that I assume are sodas and alcohol deck the room, along with bowls overflowing with fruit, trays of candies I can't identify, delicate cakes I've never seen before, cinnamon rolls, and little alcoves meant for relaxing. A dining table sits in the middle of the room, with chairs made of platinum and velvet. Flowers accent everything. Although the train begins moving instantly, I barely feel it flying under my feet.

The speed initially takes my breath away. It's been over a year since I've been riding in something this fast. Trains are all but illegal in the Districts, as travel between them is forbidden, unless on officially sanctioned duties. For District 12, that's mainly transporting coal, although this is no ordinary coal train. It's a high-speed Capitol model that averages 250 miles per hour.

In school, I've been told that the Capitol was erected in what was once the Rocky Mountain range. District 12 is in Appalachia. Because they've been mining coal here for hundreds of years, our miners have to dig especially deep. If there's a disaster— a snapped cable, or a time-bomb ready to go off any second— there's very little hope. It takes you five or ten minutes to reach the surface, and explosions are with very little notice. No one from above can hear your screams. And no one from below can hear ours.

Somehow it all comes back to coal at school. Besides basic reading and math, our instruction is completely coal-related— aside from our weekly indoctrination on the history of Panem and the benevolence and endless mercy of the Capitol, that is. They treat children like items to be manufactured, giving us little more than we need to survive. I know there must be more, so much more, than what they're telling us, an account of what happened during the rebellion, details on what started it in the first place, and the truth about how Panem came to be. They tell us so precious little; I don't even know if this is the last country on the planet.

Effie sits us down in chairs across from hers, and begins lecturing us on how wonderful this opportunity is. She encourages us to _enjoy _everything, and sees us off to our rooms. Effie tells us to do anything we want, wear anything we want; everything is at our disposal. Just be ready for supper in an hour. Although we'll only be here until tomorrow morning, they've given us everything. We're each given our own chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing area, and a bathroom with an array of water controls I didn't know existed.

The drawers in my dressing area are filled with fine clothes. I peel off Esme's blue dress, silently praying that they won't take it away, and take a hot bath. It's been over a year. I turn a knob— although my instincts tell me it's silver, I'm not certain that it isn't platinum— and it froths to the tub with bubbles, almost made of lotion. I dress in a plain dark green shirt and pants.

At the last minute, I remember Madge's little gold pin. For the first time, I get a good look at it. It's as if someone fashioned a small golden bird and then attached a ring around it. The bird is connected to the ring only by its wing tips. I suddenly recognize it. A mockingjay.

They're funny birds and something of a slap in the face to the Capitol. During the rebellion, the Capitol bred a series of genetically altered animals as weapons. The common term for them was mutations, or sometimes mutts for short. One was a special bird called a jabberjay that had the ability to memorize and repeat whole human conversations. They were homing birds, exclusively male, that were released into regions where the Capitol's enemies were known to be hiding. After the birds gathered words, they'd fly back to centers to be recorded. It took people awhile to realize what was going on in the Districts, how private conversations were being transmitted. Then, of course, the rebels fed the Capitol endless lies, and the joke was on it. So the centers were shut down and the birds were abandoned to die off in the wild.

Except they didn't die off. Instead, the jabberjays mated with female mockingbirds, creating a whole new species that could replicate both bird whistles and human melodies. They had lost the ability to enunciate words but could still mimic a range of human vocal sounds, from a child's high-pitched warble to a man's deep tones. And they could re-create songs. Not just a few notes, but whole songs with multiple verses, if you had the patience to sing to them and if they liked your voice.

I then curl up in a ball on my bed, watching the Reapings of the other Tributes. I need to know my competition if I want any hope of survival. I know I'm going to die, but I'm still hopeful. Unfortunately, I turn it on to a commentary on one of the older Hunger Games. It's a collection of "best moments" from the "best Games." It's a montage of gory deaths and blood. It makes me sick, one of them, when someone called Joanna Mason, a victor, tries to bite out someone's throat. She does't manage it, but she does bite through their skin long enough to swallow their blood after half-stabbing them to death. They then cut to a man beating another man with a brick.

"Oh, this is one of my favorite years," a man, Caesar Flickerman, says. _"And _one of my favorite arenas." The other commentator nods. "The use of the rubble in the ruined city..."

"Very exciting."

"Yes... and this moment here is a moment you never forget. The moment when a Tribute becomes a Victor."

The man prepares to strike again, to destroy his skull with the brick. I snatch the remote and turn it off. I've barely managed to stomach the rest of it. This is too much. I stand and go into the dining room. It isn't time for dinner yet. Edward hasn't moved an inch, he's in the same place he was earlier. I know he doesn't need anything like I do, and it's more than likely that he's going to die. The Capitol doesn't offer forgiveness. Especially not to vampires.

He doesn't look up as I sat down next to him, slipping my hand into his. This will be the first thing I've said to him since the Reaping. I didn't know what to say, but I wasn't about to deliver a speech.

"Why did you volunteer?" I ask. He turns to look at me. He pauses for what feels like a long time.

"It would be irresponsible to let you go alone." I hear his unspoken words. _I'm not going to let you die alone. _

"We're not going to die, Edward," I promised. "We always make it out alive."

He laughed, though there was no humor in it. "One of us has to die. And it isn't going to be you."

I take in the impact of his words slowly, a frown forming on my lips. He smiles sadly at me. I sigh.

"Edward, I volunteered so you wouldn't have to die. So your _family _wouldn't have to die..."

"We'll handle it, Bella. If something happens, they'll run. If you win, they'll... overlook something. They don't hurt Victors."

"What if I hadn't volunteered?" I ask.

"Alice was planning to make a run for it."

So I didn't have to volunteer... it just would have been riskier.

_Is it worth it? _I selfishly wonder. Jane said I had an important part to play. Could she have been telling the truth? I wonder if Edward knows about her. I sit in silence for a moment, pulling my legs into the chair and gazing out the window. I place my hand on the windowsill, the cold air of altitude— we're in the mountains— shocking me into clearing my head. I need to know if he knows. I turn to him.

"Edward, did all of the Volturi die?" I ask, trying to make it sound like a random question. He pauses, then nods.

"Yeah, there was a nuclear bomb. I don't see how any of them could've survived." I nod in reply. I'm not exactly a class-A actress, and my voice would give me away. Unless he's lying to me, he knows nothing of Jane. I suppose he doesn't recognize voices the instant he hears them, and he would've been distracted with the "white noise" of everyone else's thoughts. He always said he tuned it out unless he was intentionally listening. Could he have sensed Jane's presence? Or had he just passed over it without a second thought?

It's not like me to keep secrets from Edward, especially not when it has to do with Jane or the other Volturi. But more about her eyes had changed than just color. I don't trust her, but she had contacted me for a reason. My mind is the only one that's safe. If someone's hiding something, it's because it's a secret. I can't tell Edward. There are flaws, major ones, in my reasoning I'm sure. But I know I'm going to play an important part in what's coming, and no one is allowed to interfere for grounds unknown. I just don't know what my part is yet.

Effie bursts into the room, so excited that I assume she's going to erupt. Edward is holding back a chortle. Her thoughts must be entertaining, to say the least.

"Have you seen Haymitch?" she trills, her voice filled with fake happiness.

"Last I heard, he was taking a nap," Edward replies with a grin. He's simultaneously listening to the thoughts of a drunk and the thoughts of an... Effie Trinket. I don't know how he's not laughing.

"Well..." she says, sounding strained. The stress shows in her fingers as they spread open with tension and ball into fists. "It's been an exhausting day." I think she's relieved that she doesn't have to deal with Haymitch, and who can blame her?

Dinner comes in courses. Edward claims to not be hungry. Effie tries to force some on him with smiles an coercions. It doesn't work at first, but he takes a forced bite of this and that. I enjoy every bit of it: a thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, a chocolate cake, and various dishes that weren't invented in my much simpler era. Throughout the meal, Effie reminds me to save space; there's more to come. I've never had food like this. If I'd known that it had existed during my my time in the United States of America, I wouldn't have the slim figure that I do now.

I guess the best thing I could do before the Games is put on a few pounds.

"At least you have decent manners," says Effie as I finish the main course. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion. But at least they had the courtesy to eat _something..."_

Effie is annoyed with Edward. He can tell. He forces himself through an entire piece of chocolate cake. Every time Effie looks away, he makes a face at me. I struggle to suppress a laugh. Effie seems pleased. I'm also infuriated by her comment, and I refuse the sixth course— another dessert. This seems to upset her even further.

When the meal is over, I'm fighting to keep it down. It's been a long time since I've had food this rich and this much of it. I'm not particularly nauseous, but achy and exhausted. Edward stands slowly. Despite the fact that he hasn't really eaten anything, he pushes his chair in, folds his napkin, gives a little bow, and says,

"It's been a pleasure, Ms. Trinket."

We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the Reapings across the nation. They scatter them throughout the day so that a person could conceivably watch the whole thing live, but only people in the Capitol really can or care to do that, as none of them have to attend the Reapings themselves.

We watch the other Reapings, the names being called, the volunteers stepping forward or, more often, not. We examine the faces of the the kids who will be my competition and, possibly, Edward's prey. Although there are twenty-two of them, only a few stand out in my mind. A monstrous boy who could tackle Jacob lunges forward to volunteer in District 2. A fox-faced girl with fiery red hair from District 5. A crippled boy from District 10. And a twelve-year-old from District 11. She's so small and innocent, her timid demeanor not at all what you might expect in the Games. She will not be a Victor.

Lastly, as usual, they show District 12. Alice is called. She steps forward without hesitation, as graceful as ever, though I know how devastated she is. We know she's the only thing keeping our family alive. I step forward to volunteer, though this time I catch the dismay as I take her place. The commentators don't know what to say at the refusal to applaud and the silent salute. One says that District 12 is a bit backwards but that local customs can be charming. On cue, Haymitch falls off the stage. The two groan, though Caesar Flickerman makes it intentionally comical. Peeta's name is drawn, and Edward volunteers. The commentators are stunned. Edward and I shake hands. They cut to the two commentators.

"Well, that concludes this year's Reapings. It looks like we've got _quite _an interesting mix of Tributes this year... what do you think, Roran?"

"Well, we've got not one, not two, but _three _volunteers this year... that is certainly something we can't ignore."

The camera zooms in on Caesar's face. "Well, Panem, the odds have already been calculated. But that doesn't answer the question: who's your favorite?" He laughs. "That's it, Panem! Thank you very much, and... goodnight." They cut to the anthem as the credits roll. The program ends.

Effie Trinket is _not _happy about the state of her wig. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

Edward chuckles. "He was drunk. He's drunk every year."

I smile. "Every day," I add. Effie has made it sound like Haymitch has rough manners that could be corrected with an etiquette class. Her joyous expression is replace with something more on par with furious.

"Yes," she hisses. "And he just so happens to be your _only _chance at surviving in the arena. If you had any chance in the first place... so go ahead."

Just in time, Haymitch steps into the room.

"I miss dinner?" he slurs. He then faints. Effie holds her nose in the air and sniffs.

"So laugh away!"

He tries to rise, but slips. He hasn't vomited. Thankfully. _Yet. _I stare in slight horror as Edward helps him up. I take his arm and help Edward carry Haymitch to his room, where we lay him on his bed. We sit in silence for a few seconds. It's dark outside. The sun is beginning to set.

"Edward, I'm... worried. They're going to run tests tomorrow, and then... what if they take you away? I'll be left alone with _him _as my mentor. And..."

"Bella. Stop. It's going to be fine."

"You have a plan?"

"...I have Alice. I don't know how, but... I make it to the Games, and you do, too. After that, it's vague. But there are two things for certain. You're going to be one of us, even if it's for a brief time. And..." he uttered the next words as quietly as possible. "You're going to start something even bigger. I don't know what, but you choose Panem's fate."

I have a choice? If it was completely and truly my choice, Panem would have no future. It would have never come into existence. We would never have been displaced in time. But it isn't my choice. I know it isn't.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

He nods.

"They would never let a vampire into the Games."

"They do this year."

"Why?"

He growls something under his breath. "I don't know!" he half-yells.

"So, what? You snap everyone's neck in five seconds and then refuse to kill me?"

"Alice says that other people have a chance at winning."

"That's not possible."

"It's just what she saw."

"Do you know _anything _else?" she asks.

"Something about very large wolves. And... someone who helps you out?"

I pause. "So they're putting werewolves in the Games."

He shakes his head. "No," he says. "They aren't werewolves."

"So I survive the Games and become a vampire and am aided by some random person after escaping very large wolves," I

"Yes."

"Edward, that just... doesn't make any sense!" The whole thing is ridiculous. "I'm human... I'm nothing!"

"You're the girl whose thoughts I can't read. And something, someone is going to change you. You won't be human for very much longer."

I nod while Haymitch snores. Okay, I'll be a vampire. According to Alice. "So I'm going to survive the Games?"

"It's still one of many possibilities."

"So I might not be a vampire."

He shrugs. "Maybe Alice was seeing a dead future overlapped with the present one. I can't know for sure."

I still hate it when Edward and Alice talk like that, partially communicating out loud and partially in their minds. Even when he talks about seeing Alice's visions he sounds a bit... off. I yawn, tell Edward good night, and have him walk me back to my part of the train.

* * *

I don't sleep well that night. Edward had said he'd come in later so we could talk, but an hour after I'm in bed, the doors on the train lock. I know it wouldn't do anything if we wanted out— the walls are less than half an inch thick— but neither of us really needs to cause a scene. I'm afraid of the nightmares that sleep often offers. But I don't dream. In sleep I find a frighteningly real oblivion, like a blanket pulled over my head and suffocating me. When I wake, I turn on the television again, searching for something comforting.

Is Caesar Flickerman the only thing the Capitol watches? I try changing channels, but only find something about fashions that I don't care for and a documentary about the first and second Quarter Quells, and theories about the third one, which is next year. In the first Quarter Quell, neighbors elected who they wanted in the Games. In the second, there were twice as many opponents. If I remember correctly, that's the year that Haymitch was a Victor. As horrific as next year is going to be, I'm as curious as anyone in the Capitol as to what they'll think of next.

I flip it back to Caesar. It's a rerun, but a recording of his voice promises that he'll be talking _"all night." _I've developed a slight dislike of him by now, but there's something comforting about his velvety voice. He's one of those people who could make a fortune as nothing but an anchorman on a news station or talking on commercials. And he has. I can see why. He would probably get along well with Ryan Seacrest... As jealous as Edward would be, I let myself fall asleep to endless breaking news alerts, happy Hunger Games, and commercials all narrated by Mr. Flickerman.

* * *

I awaken the next morning, hugging my satin pillow, as Effie ushers me out of bed.

"Up! Up! Up! We've got a big, big, big day!" she squeals in delight from the hallway. I groan and force myself to obey. Was there really a need for her to say everything three times? I sigh and dress in the same clothes I wore the day previous. Effie scowls at my taste in fashion as I step out the door and into the dining car. Haymitch and Edward are sitting at the table. Biscuits, bacon, sausages, omelets, pancakes, waffles, jellies, toast, eggs, ham, fried potatoes, pastries, cereal, milk, and everything else I could ever hope for out of breakfast is scattered in various places around the room. And the _smell. _I hadn't realized how hungry I was, and I know I shouldn't be after last night, but my stomach seems to twist and suddenly I'm nearly fainting with hunger.

Haymitch looks horrid from yesterday's indulgences. He's chuckling, though if it's from drunkenness or from my scowl I can't tell. Edward is forcing down a roll. I know how bad human food must taste to him, but he stomachs it anyways. It would be odd for a person to refuse _this._

"Ah, Bella!" he scoffs with fake enthusiasm, and for a moment I think he's mimicking Effie. "Sit down! Sit down!" Yeah, he's mimicking her, from the look of disgust on her face as she sits in a different area, dabbing at a microscopic flaw in her make-up.

I sit, and one of the servants on the train slides me a plate overflowing with food. A basket of fruit chills on ice and a large bucket, as tray isn't exactly the right word, sits in the middle of the table, filled with rolls. There's a glass of orange juice, iced, in an elegant silver goblet. Everything here is so... nice. It's a shame that it comes with the price of my life. There's also a cup of hot chocolate. It's still a bit chilly outside. It's the first time I've had hot chocolate since we were stranded here. I suddenly remember my cover, that I'm from the Seam and that this _should _be the first time I've ever had something so nice, and ask Effie about it. She seems to find my question, to my annoyance, endearing, as though I were a puppy enjoying their first time with snow or peanut butter.

"It's called hot chocolate," she replies. I take a sip. It's richer and creamier than the ones we had at home, and I ignore most of the meal until my thirst for it is under control. I take a sip too much, and gasp as it burns the roof of my mouth. I still have to mug pressed firmly to my lips, and I take it away too late. In shock, I swallow an entire mouthful of it at once, and wince in pain. I set it down farther away from me, and take orange juice from that point forwards. My throat is on fire after that, though, and I take a glass of ice water in an effort to stop the flames from licking my throat. After that it's only numb, and even the strawberries, drenched in cream, are tasteless. I sigh and force down most things on the plate. It's like swallowing a rock.

Haymitch is pouring something from a red bottle into his coffee. He takes large mouthfuls of it, and judging from the smell, it's alcoholic. He'll be incoherent soon, and I'm loathing him more by the second. Effie may be right. We need him, and he's not willing to help us. As I stare at him, I absorb the reason why the District 12 Tributes never win. With _him, _we don't get the training or the sponsors we need. Rich people are the ones who pay to give Tributes gifts during the games... and Haymitch? I think he'd have to slip some of his liquor into their drinks for them to even consider it.

"You're _supposed _to give us advice," I murmur. He must not be completely gone, because he hears my comment.

"Here's some advice, sweetheart. Stay alive," he says, smirking. Then he laughs, a cruel sort of chortle, the kind that makes me want to either slap him or, more likely, wait for Edward to slap him for me.

"That's very funny," Edward mutters. Haymitch must have made a rude comment in his head as he reached for his bottle again, because in an instant, he blurs into his superhuman speed, snatches the glass in his hand, and knocks it to the floor. There's a slightly painful sound of shattering, and the blood-red drink is gradually absorbed by the floor. "But not to us," he growls.

The drunk considers this for a fraction of a second before punching, or trying to punch, Edward. He dodges easily, still frowning. If Haymitch hadn't missed, he probably would've broken his hand. He swears so quietly under his breath that I can't even tell what he says. He then smiles, gives a little almost-polite nod to Edward, and reaches back towards his spirits. It's only out of pure detestation that I do what I do next. I don't think, just act, glad for what training my family had given me, as I snatch my knife and dive it into the table between he and his stash of bottles, missing his fingers by less than an inch. I lean back, proud. If Panem has done anything for me, it's made me less of a coward. Maybe I was always this reckless and stupid, but at least I've marginally impressed Haymitch. The sound is still resonating when Effie gasps.

_"That _is _solid mahogany!" _she chides. I fold my arms. Edward glares at me for a couple of seconds, though I can tell he's more shocked than angry, and Haymitch leans back into his chair.

"Well, what's this, _sweetheart?" _he asks. "I thought you were the quiet and shy one."

_Wait 'till you see Edward. I _am _the quiet and shy one, _I mused.

"Looks like I might've gotten a pair of fighters this year... oh, well. Still not enough to save you... probably." He turns to me. "Can you hit anything with a knife besides a table?" he asks, still as snide as ever.

I only shrug. I didn't know I could avoid his fingers.

"C'mon, _sweetheart, _you aren't going to be able to shrug when you have to save your life."

I gingerly take the knife out of the table. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, drawing it back into the position that Jasper showed me all those months ago.

"Put your hand here. And draw it back to about right. . ." he adjusted my arm to the correct place. "Put your forefinger here, and throw," he said. Emmett had tried to show me, but his "direct approach" had left my knife ricocheting off his chest.

I rummage through my memories for the event and feel the ghost of Jasper's hand directing my throw. It flies across the room and into the wall. I was hardly daring to hope for a solid stick, but it lodges itself between panels unexpectedly. I was actually aiming a few inches to the left of it, but I don't tell Haymitch that. It makes me look like an expert, rather than the amateur I am. Haymitch grins. He inspects us with his eyes for quite some time, then says,

"Well, Edward, you'll be a heartthrob as soon as you enter the Capitol, assuming your stylist has taste... and Bella, you'll be attractive enough as soon as the stylists get hold of you. You're not entire hopeless, and you seem fit... I can sell it. Alright,I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking," he paused, holding out a bottle of alcohol and turning it in his hand, as if inspecting a gem. He leans at an angle and puts his feet up on the table, to Effie's horror. "And I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say. Deal?"

We nod.

"Ok, so what's the best strategy when we get to the arena and..." Edward begins.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Haymitch stops him. "One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station and you'll meet your stylists. You aren't going to like what they do to you. But don't resist," he advises, sounding like he's speaking from experience. He takes a small sip from his bottle and puts it aside.

"But—" Edward begins. How are they going to react to his ice cold skin?

"No buts. Don't resist," he says. He takes the bottle of alcohol from the table and stands to go. He grimaces, as if doing something unpleasant, but he puts it back on the table. He leaves the car and the door swings shut behind him.

Suddenly, it's completely dark. I have to restrain myself from screaming as the train shoots across the railroad. Lights are still on inside, but outside, the day has passed, twilight has ended, and night has fallen. I suppose we must be in one of the tunnels that runs underneath the mountains that border the Capitol. The mountains are a natural barrier, and they were one of the reasons that the Districts lost the war. It's impossible to enter without permission, unless you want to climb a mountain.

I run to the window, hoping to be the first to catch a glimpse of it. At present, all I see is rock, and it's unsettling to know that there's nothing but stone for hundreds and hundreds of feet above me. Edward rushes towards the window, too. I crane to get a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel, but my angle makes it impossible. Suddenly I begin to panic. The train speeds along, the darkness stretching out endlessly, and I think of how far I am from the sky. Trapped so far below, buried in the darkness, with no one to hear me scream. I'm encased in stone, as though I were already buried deep in the earth, waiting for the elements to take me away. My mind flashes to the dead, all of those killed in mining accidents, forever trapped in the eternal night. Edward must be thinking the same. He takes my hand as we wait for the advent of the sun.

Light suddenly floods the train, and I gasp. We're flying over a dam, onto a lake, and into the Capitol. The New York skyline is small in comparison. Some buildings are almost as tall as the mountains themselves. Various shades of sky blue and aquamarine deck the buildings, and yet somehow they manage to protect nature. I could mistake it for a Utopia if I didn't know that they wanted to see me dead. We zoom into it quickly, pulling into the city. I only catch glimpses of the oddly dressed people as we cross into the center of the city and then pull to a halt in the station. The cameras haven't lied about its grandeur.

The streets are paved, the cars are shiny, and I can't seem to find a color that isn't artificial. The pinks are far too bright, the blues too deep, the yellows too exotic. Other colors are their candy shades, the orange the one that you find in lollipops, the kind that makes my mouth water. And the _people. _Whiskers are attached to their faces, they where false eyelashes a foot long, their hair is flaming red— sometimes literally, they have been altered to have cats' ears, and others are as pale as snow. Their clothes are bright and frilly, covered in flowers, and all made of satin. I have to wonder how they walk in those high heels. Their faces are painted, some like clowns, others as make-up, they've died their bodies, and they wear Cinderella gloves and earrings that should make their ears fall off. They're human, and they're more alien to me than vampires.

People jump up and down to get a glimpse of us. Their bizarre hairstyles are stunning me, and their odd choices of dress... but what's more is their elation at seeing us. The newest Tributes, soon to be slaughtered. They can't wait to see us die. I stare at them, trying to understand. What thoughts fill their waking hours? What do they do all year before the Games? Do they enjoy the sight of blood and gore, or are they really just anxious for the celebrations that precede? A small girl sits on her father's shoulders, waving at me. I wave back, though I don't smile as she does. She wails and thrashes with delight, nearly knocking herself off. Edward gives her a friendly smile. The train finally pulls to a halt, and we are no longer being observed. It's time for the stylists to take a look at us.

* * *

_An __**Author's Note**_

* * *

Remember to review. Feedback would be great, I need to know how I'm doing.

Even if you don't review, thank you for reading.

See you Sunday!

~Sun


	4. The Assemblage

_The __**Assemblage**_

* * *

I cringe at the sound of my hair being ripped off before the pain flows into my nerves. They may have to strap me down like they do for prisoners undergoing torture if they continue treating me this way. I grit my teeth, not letting a sound, other than a soft gasp, escape my lips. Venia, the woman tattooed with gold and hair, from her head to her eyebrows, a soft variant of aquamarine, also cringes, almost as though she were the one in pain. I've noticed that she's oddly sensitive, considering that she'll soon be watching twenty-four children beaten, maimed, bludgeoned, mutilated, and, ultimately, killed. "Sorry," she twitters in her odd Capitol accent. "You're just _so _hairy!"

Why do they use such high pitched voices? Why do they constantly sound like they're about to break into song? Why do they inflect they're sentences like they're inquiring something? And _what do they mean _so hairy_?_Their vowels are elongated, their words are clipped, their versions of the letter _s _hisses like a snake, and they sound like Italian Americans poorly mimicking a British, French, and Australian accents all at once. I had thought that maybe only Effie spoke that way— Caesar sounded vaguely Californian— but I suppose that people on the radio and TV never talked like people in real life. They always sounded official.

"Good news though," Venia warbles. "This is the last one? R-r-ready?"

I grip the edges of the table, noting that they also trill their _r'_s. I still wince as she waxes off the last of my leg hair.

I've been in the Remake Center for must be hours, while the trio of stylists, scrub my skin down with a gritty foam that I assume uses sea-salt, reforming my nails, and ridding my body of hair. I'm sore and raw in some areas from where they pulled up more than hair.

"Don't worry, Bella, you're doing very well. And we're almost done," says Flavius, the only male of the group. He shakes his candy-orange curls and applies another layer of violet lipstick to his mouth. I asked him about it earlier. He said that clashing colors were all the rage in the Capitol and were totally underrated. I suppose he's right, to some odd degree. It makes his eyes pop. Or maybe that's his contacts. "If there's one thing we can't stand, it's a whiner... grease her down!" Flavius shouts.

He's not technically their leader, but he speaks with authority in his voice. Venia and Octavia, a pea-green woman with a body the shape of a plump chicken, rub a lotion on me that at burns for a few seconds before soothing my skin. I sigh involuntarily. They pluck me from the table and throw off the thin robe I've been wearing on and off, then lay me back down on the table. At this I'm again tempted to complain, but I know that I had best not break my deal with Haymitch. Any infraction would send him back to his spirits.

The trio, armed with tweezers, circles me to remove any last bits of unwanted hair. They seem pleased with their work. It takes every bit of self-control I have not to cross my arms over my chest as they inspect me like a piece of meat. Venia looks at me sympathetically as Flavius smiles.

"Excellent!" he cheers. "You almost look like a human being now!" They laugh, and I'm sure it's from an inside joke. I force myself to smile to show my appreciation. I think they're supposed to leave now. They don't.

"Thank you," I encourage, trying to usher them forwards. They look anxious, and I think they want me to say more. _I_ don't. Flavius breaks the awkward silence. I wonder if it was awkward to him. Maybe they are people after all.

"Let's call Cinna," he suggests. They nod excitedly. They dart out of the room. I stand and shake my head at them. I resist the impulse to retrieve my robe. Trying to distract myself from the cold white walls and floor, my fingers find my hair. Alice had so carefully done the braids. Alice. Esme. Home. I feel empty all over again.

Cinna steps through the doors. I flinch. I'm taken aback by how normal he looks. Everyone else here has been dyed and otherwise surgically altered until it's repulsive. The only alteration to this man is a few flecks of golden eyeshadow.

"Hello, Isabella. Or do you prefer _Bella?" _He pauses. I nod. "I'm Cinna, your stylist."

"Hello," I manage.

"Just give me a moment. Okay?"

As uncomfortable, nervous, and infuriated as I am, I allow him to circle me, inspecting every inch of me, resisting every impulse to hide behind something. Finally, he gestures to the robe on the floor.

"Who did your hair?" he asks.

"Al—" I cut myself off. "My sister." And she is my sister, really.

He nods. "It's beautiful, really. Your sister has gifted fingers."

"Yes, she does..." I almost choke. Cinna notices my discomfort.

"Come with me," he says.

Cinna leads me through a door and into a sitting room, a lounge, with three white walls blank and a window for the fourth. I stare at it for a moment. Cinna beckons me to sit. I do. He sits on the sofa opposing mine across a low glass table. Everything about this room is symmetrical, and my sofa is made of cubic cushions.

We sit in silence, rather awkwardly, as my thoughts wander to Edward. Surely his stylists would have realized that something's wrong by now. His skin is far too cold to belong to a human being, and I don't think the massage would have worked on him. I try to relax. He promised me that it would work out. Somehow...

Would they use one of their experimental vampirism "treatments" on him? I've heard that, if used improperly, it can be deadly. It involves days if not weeks of intense medical care to recover, not to mention the initial transformation. The thirst for blood never really fades, although the scent is dulled to a point where it's near nonexistent. The operation itself has a seventy percent fatality rate. I'm not sure they'd want to risk it with a Tribute, but I'm certain they couldn't let him into the arena in his present  
"condition." Like it's a disease that needs to be cured.

Cinna orders a special dish that I've never heard of. When they serve it, I find chicken and orange chunks in some sort of sauce, a salad, and a pudding. It's odd, how hot and steamy it is without any work from anyone here. I almost laugh as I remember the political speeches about the rich becoming wealthy off the backs of the poor. In Panem, the system is _designed _so that the poor stay poor and the rich only become richer. What do these people _do _all day? They certainly don't work. They have all the time in the world, although I'm sure they find some way to make their leisure time as minimal as possible. Most of it must involve waiting. Waiting for the next Reapings, waiting for the next Tribute trains, waiting for the Games to begin.

"How despicable we must seem to you," says Cinna.

I nearly gasp aloud at his words, as he has read my mind so perfectly. I've been called an open book before, but...

"No matter," he says. "So, Bella, about what you're wearing to the opening ceremonies. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for Edward. Our current plan is to dress you in..." he searches for the right word. _"Complementary, _costumes. As you know, it's customary to reflect the trade of your District."

District 12. Coal. Great.

"So... a coal miner outfit?" I ask.

"Mm, no. I was going to go with the coal itself. Tributes from 7 don't dress in lumbermen's clothing. They dress as trees. District 12 has coal. That's why I asked for what do we do with coal?"

Lovely. Oil.

"We burn it," he says, grinning. The man has a spark of something gleaming behind his eyes. I believe it to be madness.

* * *

A few hours later, I'm dressed in a coal black suit that covers my entire body, save my hands and face. It's larger, with batwing-like flaps, on the shoulders, and it zips all the way off. On my torso, where the unitard is immodestly tight, the leather is polished, while on my chest and arms it seems like the skin of a black snake. My hair, braided on top of my head, is wrapped with strands of gold. Although it isn't simple by my standards, it's rather plain by the Capitol's. But it isn't the costume itself that will make me sparkle; it's the cloak of scarlet, azure, and golden flames that will set me aflame against the darkling sky.

"Isi," Cinna says suddenly as he lightly brushes makeup onto my face. Rather than hiding my shadows, he seems to be accenting them, as though I've been exposed to smoke.

"Isi?" I ask.

"Isi, the girl on fire. It sounds better than Bella, the girl on fire."

I want to protest, but he's right. I nod.

"I've been toying with your name. Belle, Bella, Isa, _Isi."_

"It's unusual," I remark, trying to hide my disappointment. He pauses.

"You know that Panem has a history of using Latin, don't you?"

I think for a moment. "It means _bread, _right? _Panem?"_

He nods. "Bella is Latin, too. It means _war."_

I almost gasp. Somehow, I feel like I should have known that. I'm not exactly insulted or surprised. It feels right, considering my bad luck. I change the subject again. To my public name. "Bella, the girl who was aflame?"

He stops again, then grins. "The burning Swan." A disturbing image, but appropriate.

_Alice, the girl on fire, _I muse. If she had come, he could have used the name he had in mind. But I'm here, and now he has to work with my name. I've always hated it.

"Bella, girl on fire," suggests Cinna.

I shake my head.

He continues adding the minimal makeup — foundation here, mascara and eyeliner here, lipstick here, blush here. The alien in the mirror is beautiful. I smile at her and she smiles at me. I hardly recognize myself. Cinna has transformed me with a light hand. He is truly an artist with what he does, and he makes people beautiful. My attributes are accented and my flaws, like mistaken brushstrokes on a canvas, have been made wonderful.

People in the Capitol, with the seemingly lone exception of Cinna, use so much makeup it becomes grotesque. I'm a bit confused as to why he has done so little; the philosophy here seems to be that more is better. At my unspoken question, Cinna replies,

"I want people to recognize you in the arena. _Isabelle,_ girl on fire," he states dreamily. The twinkling spark in his eyes is there again as he smiles. I smile back at him, though only because I'm afraid to disappoint him. I like him, despite my loathing towards the Capitol.

Cinna attaches the back part of my costume, the piece meant to burn, to my back. A shudder runs through me as I begin to doubt for the first time. I frown.

"It's not real flame, of course," he says, "It's just a little synthetic fire that Portia and I came up with. It's perfectly safe." Great. He may as well have said "what could possibly go wrong."

Edward steps through the doors moments later. My eyes dart to him. He's pale and vampiric as ever. I suppose the Capitol may let it slide for a few more hours. They wouldn't want to disrupt their schedule. Portia, a young woman with aqua tresses that flow down her back and shoulders steps into the room. Her face is relatively clear of makeup, save the lipstick that matches her locks and her eyes. She smiles at me. When she looks at Cinna, she's positively glowing. Her team, just as odd as mine, accompanies her.

"Hello Bella, Cinna," she greets us, a glimmer in her eyes as she says the latter.

"Portia." He shakes her hand, his fingers lingering on hers for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Portia takes something from her purse.

"I brought this. It's a last minute glitter I came up with for their faces. They'll literally sparkle in the firelight." I can't restrain the snort. Portia shakes her head at me.

Cinna takes the dusk in his hands. He dips the brush in his hand and dabs it on my face and hands. I stretch my fingers towards the sun streaming in from the windows. It glimmers. So Edward _did _tell Portia. She's just covering for him with last minute makeup. Edward steps into the light next to me. He shimmers, too, and I wonder if it's natural or from the Capitol's beautification. _As if he needs it, _I think, glad I'm an exception to his gift.

"Is it too much? I could lighten it..." suggests Portia. _She could?_

"No, no. It'll be in the firelight. It'll look wonderful. They'll be radiant." I see Edward mouth a _thank you _at Portia, and Cinna just nods. He understands, too. But we don't speak of it and we never will.

We're whisked downstairs and into the chariots in a blur. The ceremonies are about to start and you can tell. Horses are everywhere. Ours are as black as midnight, the color of coal and the color of my outfit. The animals are incredibly well trained. Despite the length of the journey, no one will even guide their reigns. It won't be necessary. Edward steps into the chariot first. He pulls me into it. I'm shaking right now, a full blown panic attack on the way.

"I'll hold your hand," he says, doing just that. I squeeze tighter.

"Just don't let me fall down."

"I think you'll be the one standing upright at the end of this, Bella."

Cinna pulls out the torch he intends to light us with. Edward flinches. Vampires are fairly indestructible, but fire burns them like wax.

"What do you think about the fire?" I whisper to him.

"I think it'll work. Portia's confident. Cinna's... almost confident."

"Are you worried about... that?" Even if it doesn't hurt me, he could still be vulnerable.

"Yes," he answers honestly. "Look, I know we promised Haymitch we'd do anything he said to, but..."

"Yeah, where is he anyway?"

"With all that alcohol, it would be unwise to expose him to an open flame."

I almost laugh. I can't laugh though, not with impending doom leaning over me from two angles. The opening music begins, thundering loudly through whatever speakers there are. It's odd music, the exact opposite of outdated. It seems to be hit songs from this year, whatever that is. Immense gates slide open and the first chariot, District 1, parades into the streets. Their horses are a pale white with glittering manes, and the tributes wear what looks like ancient Greek attire— glittering white capes that flow from behind. Then I catch a glimpse of this part of the city and the crowds. It reminds me of the Pantheon, or maybe the Campo de Fiori, only with swarms of people thicker than New York.

We're the last chariot, as usual. Only two are left when Cinna brings the torch to us. Edward hides a grimace. The sky has already darkened, and I know why Cinna chose this. We'll dazzle in the twilight, the eventide.

"Here we go, then," he says. We're on fire before I can flinch away. I wait for pain, burning, agony. It doesn't come. The feeling is faint, though it isn't even warm. I reach behind me, letting the flames lick my fingers. It's slightly cool to the touch.

"It works," Cinna sighs. "Remember. Heads high, smiles. They're going to love you!" he says, jumping off the chariot. We then begin to move into the streets.

For the first time, I glance at Edward. He's radiant with the flames, almost engulfed in them. It's stunning, more amazing than I had imagined. I glance at my hand. The flames play on our faces, which are slightly luminous with whatever is on our faces. Edward doesn't seem to be in any pain at all, he's only looking straight ahead, squeezing my hand a little tighter than I'm comfortable with. For once, he's the one in danger of tripping over himself.

The crowd's shock at our appearance morphs into cheers, shouting our names, our first names. They call me Isabelle rather than Bella, but I suppose I'll work with it. Cinna put that as my name in the program, I guess. Heads turn our way, people jump up and down at us, and I'm absolutely amazed. It worked. It actually worked! I then see a television, screening the parade live. I'm in shock at my face. I am glowing ever so slightly, an occasional flame jumping close to me and the glitter shining off of it. But even more shocking than that is the trail of flames itself. I'm paralyzed. Stunned. I don't think I've ever looked more beautiful. I smile, and it seems to have an effect on the crowd.

Someone tosses me a rose. I wave in their general direction. More shouts. Edward tries doing the same, rather than the stiffness he had been, and the crowd, now a mob trying to be the ones closest to us, is ignited with fire of their own. They chant our names. We've stolen the show. The people of the Capitol shower us with flowers. It's an advantage, an amazing advantage. They'll remember me in the arena. My look, my name. Isabelle, the girl on fire. I beam at the thought. Perhaps I'll survive longer than I'd hoped.

We soon move towards a region known as the City Circle, at the foot of the Tribute Tower, our home/prison until we're tossed into the arena. Edward has completely cut off my circulation. I adjust my fingers uncomfortably, and he drops my hand entirely.

"No," I beg. "I'll fall if you don't." He takes my hand again, this time, as we pass through the enormous gates of the Circle itself, he locks his hand in mine and pushes it up, in victory, to the air. The crowd goes nuts. They've lost it. I know that here are the richest of the rich, the people who will sponsor— or not sponsor— the Tributes this year. The national anthem of Panem, with only a few people in the crowd murmuring it, plays loudly over the scene. I feel... triumphant.

Edward keeps my hand in their air, effortlessly, until we finally stop.

President Snow speaks briefly. _Is this my chance to kill him? _I half-wonder. Jane said I would be given a gift. The fire? The ability to survive with only a little luck? She said it would be worth far more than survival.

Great. Am I _trusting her? _I feel like an idiot.

During the oration, I see one of the Tributes wince in momentary pain. I glance in the general direction that he does. Edward is focused on the President. Jane must be lost amidst the background noise. I find her looking at me with a somewhat apologetic look. She sits alone, ignoring what must be a mouthwatering scent of these thousands of people. She has changed, at least in her ability to act human.

But it's so wrong. She looks kind, _genuine. _Her black robe has been replaced by a crimson and gold dress, feathery and blending in well with the rest of the Capitol. And this version of Jane is more frightening than the sadistic child I once knew. I scan her area and find a group of other vampires, clumped together, their scent lost among the hundreds of thousands of people.

Our chariots begin to move again, this time into the Tribute Tower, also known as the Training Center. Our cloaks flicker off the moment the doors shut, and the parade has ended.

* * *

Thank you for taking the time to read my writing. I'm not going to beg for anything, but I do ask that, even if you hated it, please review. I need the feedback.

~Sun


	5. The Unexpected

I'm not so sure about this chapter. This is where things get, well, interesting. It's where I branch even farther off of Twilight and stop following the plot of The Hunger Games. Originally it was titled "The Epiphany" but... there weren't as many revelations as I expected.

* * *

_The_ **_Unexpected_**

* * *

Before the other Tributes, wild eyed with envy, can mar our success with their stares of pure hatred, Effie takes us to the elevator. It seems to be made of crystal. The floor is a white shaggy carpet, the kind you might expect in a utopian space-city. She daintily presses the button. Haymitch is last in, seeming more utterly sober than I've ever seen them. The doors nearly close on him. It's then that the elevator shoots upwards as we watch the people below transform into specks. I glance at the number. 112, although the buttons 1-100 are marked as _off limits for all Tributes_. Okay, one floor for each District. Easy.

"Well then, here's your luck. One floor for each District, and since you're from 12, you get the pent house," she pipes happily, showing us in as the door opens. More of the same carpets, concrete in the uber-modern living room, some sort of gas that burns with blue flames on the hearth, chairs made of a geometric shape— what looks like a ribbon bent back and looped over to form a chair shape— around the glass table. Spherical glass bulbs hang from the ceiling in clusters, like our own personal stars. Modern sculptures— metallic rocks, purple disk-like structures, and miniature fountains— deck the area. A window covers an entire wall. We can see the whole of the Eastern Capitol.

Edward finally speaks to me. I've been so utterly astounded in the past few minutes that my mind has been beyond comprehension of coherent words.

"Isabelle?" he asks, breathless if it's possible for a vampire. I nod.

"It was Cinna's idea. Isabelle, the girl on fire." He smiles. We're beyond the cameras, I suppose. I continued with the act on the train, though I don't really know why. Maybe I was too devastated to be myself. But now that we have another week together— hardly forever, but worth it nonetheless— I know I trust Haymitch and, marginally, Effie to know that we're more than friends.

"Isabelle," Edward finally says. I take a deep breath, gazing into his eyes, before Effie clears her throat. We've stopped a few steps from the table, and Haymitch glances back at us. When he catches the way Edward and I are still looking at each other, he claps and clasps his hands together and throws his head back laughing. Edward glares at him.

"It's perfect," the previously drunken man says. "Now _that's _something to work with, sweetheart!" He actually embraces me, then Edward. The table is set, overflowing with food and drinks, and Haymitch snatches a bottle of Italian wine off the table. He throws his head back again as he takes a gulp, straight from the bottle, and then declares, _"Magnifico!" _to the heavens. "Excuse me, I don't usually use Italian, but that's the type of wine." He shows us. "Magnifico, 2786. A good year, not that I'm that old. . . but anyways. . . _magnifico!" _He actually embraces me, then awkwardly hugs Edward, holding the wine to the side as he does so. "Now. . ."

Haymitch gestures to the empty seats, which everyone else— Cinna, Portia, Edward, Effie, and me— shuffle to and sit in. Despite their unorthodox shape, I take a moment to note their utter comfort.

"Now _this, _is something I can sell," he says, sitting down. "Just take a _look _at the two of them, Effie! Surely even a Capitol idiot like yourself— no offense, Cinna, Portia— can see this! Look at them! We've given them something to root for!"

"And what's that?" Effie sniffs, asking the question on everyone's minds. Haymitch rolls his eyes.

"Young love."

Shock. Confusion. Fury. Hope. They cycle through me all at once, but I think that I can understand Haymitch's point. The Capitol will easily romanticize Edward and I in the hopes that, somehow, one of us will live. Which we won't. But the sponsors it would gain for us would keep us alive for a few days at worst. Cinna jumps into the conversation.

"How did you two meet?" he asks.

"School," I reply honestly.

"No, no, no, no, no, you two met when. . . when you fell out of an apple tree. You glanced up and there was Edward. Ok, Isi?" says Haymitch.

My name stuck. I'm Isi and Isabelle but not Bella, although I suspect that Haymitch came up with that on his own. My cheeks flame from his nickname and I know he's not going to stop using it anytime soon. I nod and look away.

"I said, 'Excuse me, are you alright, ma'am?" says Edward.

"No, no, not quite right. Isi?" asks Haymitch, looking for suggestions. I shrug.

"Hello, Bella. . ." Edward begins.

_"Isabelle, _is the name we're going with," corrects Cinna. "It fits the stage image."

"Ah, we'll work on their first lines later," says Haymitch. "They both love each other, but they don't _know _it yet. Edward is going to confess his love to her and the whole of Panem during the interviews in a few nights. Bella is going to be sitting in one of the chairs in the distance. They'll cut to your face, back to Edward, and then the show will end. With the _star crossed lovers from District 12. _Isn't it perfect?"

He and Cinna continue this line of conversation for what seems like hours until the first course— as the only thing sitting out was wine— finally arrives. It's an appetizer. There are ten meats and ten cheeses to choose from, along with a basket with an assortment of breads. As usual, Edward doesn't have a single bite. Effie looks incredibly annoyed with him. Portia glances at him with understanding and begins taking some of the food off his plate while Effie isn't looking. Portia knows his secret. I can tell by the way she sits on the very edge of her seat so she's farther away from him. He shakes his head at her and blinks, drawing attention to his eyes, which she has trouble meeting. Finally, when Cinna and Haymitch have exhausted the subject of the star-crossed relationship, Effie, who looks like she's about to explode from an entire appetizer without small-talk, changes the subject.

"So, Portia, how long have you and Cinna been together?" she asks. Portia's eyes widen.

"Oh, Cinna and I, we're not. . ." she glances down at her hand, which has been, without her notice, linked with Cinna's for the past few minutes.

His glance falls to it as well, and they simultaneously look up. They linger, just eying each other, until they both look at Effie. Even Haymitch smiles. Edward grins. He's been listening to this for the past several hours. It must be a relief to be out of that tension.

"A. . . uh. . ." she turns the _uh _into the _a _in _about, _". . . Bout five seconds," she finally responds.

Everyone releases a slight chuckle at that, followed by a lot of smiles. Portia's sapphire makeup is fading amidst the scarlet bursting into her cheeks. Edward looked at me that way, when we first met, in the blush of new love. It was right when we had broken the thick layer of ice between us, when I began sitting with him at lunch and when he took me to the meadow. Thinking back on my life with the Cullens, I wonder if I'll ever write it down for someone in the distant future to read. I suppose all great stories of life are like that, like novels. For Cinna and Portia, I know that this is the start of one.

The evening drags on until they bring the entrees— mushroom soup. Everything here is so rich. One of the servants offers me a glass of red wine. I almost decline, but I suppose I'll never have a chance to try it again. It's rather dry as I take the sip, and a bit sour on the aftertaste. I take another one, and this time a horrid thought occurs to me. I've woken up when I've bitten my cheek in a nightmare before. I know what it tastes like. And this glass of wine reminds me of cold blood.

I barely manage to swallow after that. Some of it leaks onto my chin, and I quickly wipe it away before I can panic. I'm not sure what bothers me so much about the thought, but it's like a food reminding you of something it shouldn't before you can stop yourself. I order a glass of champagne instead, hoping I might forget about my thought altogether. I do not.

About halfway through the glass, I begin to feel foggy. I reach for it again, but Edward's hand stops me. I glance at him. He shakes his head and I sigh. I look around and discover that the world is spinning.

I'm not the least bit interested in the talk, which has gone from dull to far beyond dull. Something about costumes and the costumes for our interviews. I don't bother attempting to focus on it, I just stare at the wall and focus on the sensation of Edward's hand in mine. I only have a week left to enjoy it. Someone finally brings out the last course. A dessert. A feminine hand sets the cake aflame with a special match. The blue flames stack higher and higher but never quite reach the ceiling. Then again, I'm doubtful, not wanting any more alcohol. "What makes it burn?" I question, slightly slurring my words. "Is it alcohol? I really don't wa— oh, it's you!"

I know I've seen the redhead before. The dark crimson hair, the features and porcelain white skin that should belong to a vampire, and, most of all, the deep emerald eyes that seem to bore straight into my soul. It's only then that I realize my mistake. I'm not supposed to say anything to these people. She's an _Avox, _a traitor to the Capitol who's tongue has been cut out and who are sentenced to servitude until they're no longer useful_. _The expression of utter terror and panic that covers her face only adds to the recognition.

"Isi!" Effie chides. Evidently it's my official nickname now. "It's an Avox and not even human, not really. They have genetic reprogramming to make them more submissive and completely and utterly obedient to me. I'm sure they could get over it with therapy, but. . . You're _not _supposed to speak to those things unless it's to give an order!"

I shy away from Effie. I'm backed into a corner. Because I _have _seen this girl before. And it was under illegal circumstances. I can't tell them how I know her. The adults are watching me like vultures. Suddenly, Edward snaps his fingers.

"Jessica Newton." A mixture of Mike and Jessica. Nice, Edward. "They're practically identical," he says. I pounce at the opportunity, though I say as little as possible. I'm a terrible liar, and I know it.

"Oh, that's who I was thinking about! It must be those eyes." I hope I don't sound too out of character. I've been told that's what gives my lies away. I would never say most of them if I were telling the truth.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, including the redheaded girl. She eyes me sadly, though with a faint smile at me. A thank-you-for-not getting-me-in-trouble kind of look.

When dinner is over, I speed off to my room. The bed is plush, there are thousands of buttons on the shower, the window may as well be a television, and everything is beyond perfect. I try a particular pattern of soaps, lotions, and scents in the shower before taking a quick dip in the hot-tub-like bathtub. I need to clear my thoughts. I _know _where I saw the redhead. I just don't know what Edward and I can do about it or where we can talk about it.

As I lean my head against what I have nicknamed the de-tangler, a device that runs a current of water through your hair to brush and wash it at the same time, it hits me. I heard he and Cinna talking about the roof, where it's "very windy." No one would overhear us. I dress in something comfortable and slip outside. I ask Edward if he'll join me on the roof. He says yes.

Once up there, I can see what he's talking about. The wind is severe, and I'm almost afraid of falling off. The place is essentially a rooftop garden. Plum trees, apple trees, raspberry bushes, and, naturally, flowers. A garden swing creaks from the wind, and chimes hanging on the trees trill their little song. I step towards the edge and gaze down at the city below.

"Aren't they worried that a Tribute might jump off?" I ask.

"Mm... not everyone jumps off of things when their boyfriend breaks up with them, Bella."

"This is the Hunger Games. Teenagers are trying to kill each other. It's more than just a little high school drama. What if a Tribute jumped off?"

"You can't." To my surprise, he snatches a rock and tosses it off the side. The electric current, visible in the air, slows it down and tosses it back up, directly into his hand. He smiles. "It throws you back."

"Could I try?" I ask.

Edward laughs. "It hurts." I don't think the pain was the funny part... I push my hand towards it and jerk back. My fingers are numb. I shake it off. Plant boxes, a each a couple of feet apart, rest around the edges of the roof. I sit down and curl up against one of them. Edward sits by the one across from me.

I know he wants to talk about the redhead girl. He spotted she and another boy racing through the woods. We talked to them for a few seconds and pointed them North, towards the remains of District 13. They had told us thank you and dashed away. An hour later we saw them again. They screamed "run" at us. We obeyed and found ourselves under a tree. We watched in silence as it happened. A hovercraft materialized, the boy was speared from above, and the girl, shouting something, was lifted away.

"They caught her," I whisper.

"Yes," he states.

"Do you think we could have saved them? Brought them underneath something?"

"Well, we _didn't _save them. But yes. Probably."

"Avoxes... they're never spoken directly to, and they can't talk themselves. They must feel like they're trapped in a box or something," I say.

"I hear them," he replies. "And yes, they do. And her name is Lavina, if you were wondering.

"Was she from the Capitol?"

"Yes. She ran away."

How does he—

"She thinks about it often. But she doesn't regret it."

"They were going towards District 13?" I ask, still hushed.

"Yes."

"What were they looking for?"

"They were looking for rebellion. Whispers had... crossed over to the Capitol in the form of rumors. A Tribute probably knew, they told their version of Effie, and their version of Effie would tell most of the Capitol. Lavina heard about it from a faded old letter, partially, written from a Capitol resident to the mayor of District 13. But the date was from _after_ the District was obliterated. She had hope. False hope. But she didn't want to marry, apparently, so she took with her her one true love. The two of them made it to District 12. They had almost gotten to where they were going when the hovercraft appeared. She is still plotting escape to 13, even if there isn't anything there."

So close, reaching but never reached. I wonder if I would have done the same, if Charlie had arranged a marriage for me while I was still in love with Edward. My instincts say yes, in a heartbeat, but I don't know how, if I were born into this Utopian city of endless wealth, I could ever leave on little more than a whim.

"The boy... does she think about him often?" I ask.

"Danaus," he says. I nod. I don't know why I want to be able to put a name to his face. I feel like his blood is on my hands, and thinking of him as a person only adds to my guilt. It's like I've swallowed a rock.

I lean in a little closer to Edward.

"Do you think we're going to survive?" I ask tentatively. He looks directly into my eyes. He then slowly shakes his head. I nod, closing my eyes.

"Portia will cover for me. But tomorrow they _will _check my vitals. Unless they already know, which is more than likely."

"Who would tell on you?"

"Effie. Maybe a member of my prep team. A doctor checked my nonexistent pulse before and her first thought was _'vampire.' _ She probably told someone. I'll no doubt disappear tonight. If I'm 'lucky' I'll be back in a few days with... mmm... 'severe health concerns.'

"Edward..."

"They think vampirism is just another virus to be cured."

"It's not like that."

"They don't know that."

"Then run," I tell him. "Just take off running through the forcefields and clear the city as fast as possible. You can survive in the mountains. There's plenty of wildlife."

"I volunteered my life so I wouldn't have to leave you."

Irate, I can hardly help but scream at him.

"I don't _want _your life! I want you to live! I don't care if I have to die, but I am _not _going to let you sacrifice yourself for me! I'm not worth that." I'm furious suddenly, and I've given up on keeping my voice hushed. I stand as quickly as possible, and Edward, irises dark as obsidian, glares at me.

"You are _so_ worth my life, Bella! You have a soul and I've lost mine, and you are so worth it! You're worth this and so much more!" he shouts.

"I am not! I'm human. I'm nothing. I'm just the clumsy girl who couldn't... couldn't _fumble_ with a flyswatter enough to swat a fly without killing myself in the process!"

"Isabella Swan you are..." he shakes his head and looks at the ground. When he looks at me again, his eyes are radiating ebony. "Everything to me. And I _will _die to keep you alive _as long as possible _during the Games!"

"Why? _Why _do you love me?! And, most importantly, _why would you die for me!"_ I demand. I am _not _worth it.

_"Because you've given me no choice!" _he roars. "I love you, Bella, because you gave me a life. You _gave _me a choice. The choice between being a monster and being who I want to be. But you've taken that away and are _forcing _me into this!"

"I'm not forcing you into _anything!" _I shriek. "No, _listen _to me!

"I will fight for you 'till the end of my existence. It's time you accepted that."

"Well, _maybe..." _through gritted teeth, I falter."Maybe I'm not as fragile as you think I am."

"You _are _fragile, Bella. I could still kill you, right here and right now. It could even be an accident."

"Let me prove myself. In training this week. I'll... pass every obstacle."

"I'll be gone by then."

"Fine. I'll just... jump off this roof!"

"Then apparently you are one of the people who would jump off a building when their boyfriend breaks up with them."

"I'm _pretty _sure we've already established that!" I shout above the gathering wind. A sudden gust knocks me over, though in the opposite direction of the ledge, and Edward catches me by my arm. We both look into the wind, and see that a storm is gathering. The tempest swirls around me, catching my hair and pushing it into my eyes. I turn to Edward. "And... are you saying that you're breaking up with me?!"

"Of _course _not! Bella, you're human, you're fragile, and I couldn't leave you if I wanted to! What are you trying to do here!"

I sigh. "I'm not strong, but I'm _not _pathetic." I spit the last word at him.

"I know you're not pathetic."

"Yes, but you don't _believe _it. I'll prove it to you!"

Thunder roars. There's no rain yet, but judging by the endless gales assaulting me there will be some soon. The chimes are rocketing so furiously that it begins to sound demonic.

"There's nothing to prove!" he shouts.

"Oh, there is!" I am going to jump off this building. Stupid? Yes. But he needs to know.

"Bella, _what _will it prove."

"That I have something that can protect me."

"And what's that?"

We stare at each other for a long time. "Bravery," I finally say.

"I _know _you're brave, Bella. But you don't have to do this! It will do _nothing!" _

I draw a deep breath and turn my back to the ledge. My hair pushes against my shoulders from the wind in this direction. I sweep my tresses behind me. "You and I," I sigh, "Both know that we can't win these Games," I breathe, panting. Air that rushes fifty miles an hour is difficult to catch. I exhale in a deep sigh that accents my next words. I step back towards the ledge. _"I _know that I can't win these Games. So this is what I'm doing. I'm going to prove to you that, even though I know I can't win." I take a few steps backwards. "So this is me proving to you." I put my foot back again, and my heel slips. "This is me proving to you that I'm not afraid to try."

I lean backwards and slip through the air. After less than a second, I panic. I tumble back through the wind, completely out of control. Then comes the pain. Friction. Heat. Slight burning. I press my lips firmly together. I can't scream. I try to straighten myself out, and I end up in a dolphin dive towards the ground. My speed doesn't slow, it increases, the concrete rushing towards me. I brace myself, though I stay in position, for making an impact in the pavement. The forcefield hasn't caught me. _I'm going to die, I'm going to die..._ Then I scream. The tempest swallows it. I make no sound. The forcefield begins to pull and push me back up, like a net, and, a few feet from the top, it flips me over to my feet and, perfectly, onto the ground. I land in Edward's arms, an embrace, looking down at the land below that I came very near to.

We stand there for a few seconds, and he mutters to me,

"Don't do that again."

It was almost... fun. I didn't die by any means. If I were still obsessed with adrenaline, trying to see visions of Edward, I would do it again. I swallow. No. I will never do this again. I pull back from him, he ensuring that I don't fall again, and I examine my arms. Surprisingly, I don't have a single bruise. Nothing hurts.

"Do you believe me now?" I ask, completely breathless.

"I'm not leaving, if that's what you're asking. But yes. You _are _brave."

"I did that to prove to you that I'm not afraid to die. I'm ready. Just leave. Live."

"To a vampire, life without one's mate is... empty."

I think of Esme, now little more than a hollow shell. "I know." I glance back at the ground. "Why did I do that again?" I ask. Edward laughs.

"I honestly have no idea. And you probably gave Alice a panic attack." Oops. I just realized that now. He strokes my cheek almost apologetically. "I think it's time for you to go to bed. You need sleep."

"But—"

"It's fine..." his eyes widen. "Bella! Bella, run!"

* * *

Confused, I turn around to face seven Peacekeepers. One of them grabs me, locking his fingers around my neck. I yelp and try to twist out of his grasp. This fails and I stomp on his foot. Finally, one of them presses a gun to my forehead.

"She will come with us, Vampire," says the one standing in front. "You will comply or she will die."

The man holding me takes several steps back. He's soon out of striking distance if he values my life. Which he does. Edward makes a move toward us. The man tightens his grip on me.

"Comply," demands the leader. "Comply or we _will _eliminate her."

"She's valuable to you," he purrs. Do vampires really have hypnotic powers? I'm not sure how anyone could resist his voice.

"She is replaceable. As are the men surrounding her. Don't try to run, we have this floor secured."

I hear frantic footfalls, echoing up and down the staircase and into the night. I manage to twist enough to see Lavina standing in the doorway to the stairs. Her mouth is open. She is as panicked as I. The Peacekeeper closest to her grabs her. She gasps and then shrieks, almost an animal sound. She, too, tries to break out of his grip, she with more success than I. She darts to Edward, then turns to him. Her eyes wide, she seems to be begging.

"I won't let harm come to you for seeing something classified like this. You cannot speak, and for once this is to your advantage. You pose no threat to the Capitol. Eliminating you would be impractical. Correct, Jaime?" he asks the head Peacekeeper and promises the girl.

"Indeed," he says. "The Avox poses no threat. Unless of course, she attempts to assist in Isabelle's escape."

"Lavina. Don't try to help me. Just go downstairs and forget you saw this. And Jaimie... I will let you go in peace if you promise not to hurt Isi." Isi. I think that's my name for while I'm in the Capitol, now. "If possible... I am prepared to go in her place."

"Edward, _no!.. _where am I going, anyways?" I ask stupidly.

"I don't know. Our intelligence would suggest that Edward has the ability to read minds. I was not told about your fate to keep the secret. I assume you will survive. You are a Tribute, after all. If it makes you feel any better, our orders were to collect every Tribute except for Edward Cullen. He is to remain in our special handcuffs for the next two days. He will remain in one room in one place in the house under careful supervision. He _will _be allowed to speak to others, but he will also play by our rules and will not attempt to bend them," Jaimie says.

"Will B— _Isi _be alive and well when I see her again?" Edward asks.

"I cannot guarantee it. If something does happen, you will be the twelfth to know." The Peacekeeper smiles. "Sedate her," he orders one of his men.

My breathing quickens, I feel the sharp, cold pain of a syringe in my neck, and the world goes black.

* * *

I know, cliffhanger, I'm evil. I don't intend to disappoint. The next chapter is _very _short, but _very _important. I'll see you Sunday (I hope).

Hope you're still enjoying this story!

~Sun


	6. The Morphling

I was very worried about uploading this chapter. It's where I diverge from the Hunger Games. A lot. But I'm quite happy with how it turned out. So please enjoy.

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_The __**Morphling**_

* * *

I awaken on a cold metal table, shackled down and disoriented, unable to make sense of the first memories that bubble into my conscious mind. When I do, I instinctively twist my wrists, pain from the sharp metal digging in. I open my eyes but the bright light is too much. I squint, braving the pain, until my eyelids close without my consent. I gasp for air, but I may as well be in a vacuum. There doesn't seem to be any.

I hear muffled voices; the words are contrived to what my fuzzy brain can understand, which is nothing. I gasp again, shivers becoming constant, as I try to force myself to resurface. It occurs to me that I must be drugged. Heavily.

"... you _will _do this, Doctor. Perhaps we should remind you of our capabilities to make you suffer," the cold voice of a woman says. Her tone of voice makes me shudder.

"No!.. uh, no, no, that won't be necessary," a rather soft male voice replies.

"You will give them each two milligrams of morphine. No more, no less. You will stay here the entire time. We will deliver water in the mornings and at night. We need someone to monitor the process. To assure that there are no... complications," the female says.

"Two milligrams will not be enough to counteract the pain. And certainly not morphine," protests the man. Then he goes off on a medical rant. "At least diamorphine or oxycodone. Preferably dilaudid or..."

"That's enough, Doctor."

"Sir—"

"I _said _enough."

"Yes, sir." The military tone is stiff. Like he's been trained to say it and been punished when he doesn't. "Just... more than two milligrams?" he practically begs.

"No. We will leave. I will see you, Doctor, in two days when this is all over." "Have you made the modifications to the drug that we instructed?" she says bitterly. There is a moment of silence. She gives a huff and starts tapping her foot. "Have you made the modifications to the drug that we instructed?"

"Yes," he says.

"Then goodbye." She spits the word. "Do not hesitate. This is your test, to see if you're ready to handle this. You are our servant, nothing more. You would be wise to remember this," she chides. There is a moment of silence, then the man says my name.

"Bella..." It's almost a gasp, but he drags it on for a little while. Then he quickly says, "Bella Swan. Where is the other Tribute from her District? I was told all Tributes were to be..." he asks.

"None of your concern," the woman snaps before I hear the sound of high heels clicking their way out of the room. I shiver as I hear a mechanical door whirl open and then closed again. The door to the room locks.

The man in the room sighs. I hear the rattle of medical instruments. Footfalls move to the opposite side of the room. I dare to open my eyes. I see the man's silhouette. The light and the drugs block my sight from anything else. Everything is either the darkest shade of black or the brightest white, so bright it hurts my eyes. The man bends over another shadow tentatively. He presses something— an injection, I realize— into her arm.

It's the girl from District 1, Glimmer. She gasps and then sighs. I suppose it must be the morphine. My eyes start burning. Before I can stop, they close again. I don't remember how to open them. I struggle for a moment. I may as well be trying to lift a truck for all the good it does. With horror, I realize that I've used every ounce of energy I have, just keeping my eyes open for a few seconds. I can't wiggle my toes or my fingers. My breathing is labored.

Then she screams. Glimmer screams. Screaming is to establish that you are in pain. It's a cry of protest. Then she shrieks. Shrieking is a feral noise, reserved for animals. It is for a time that the mind is so clouded in pain that no thoughts, other than the wish of death, can break through agony's wall. I hear the doctor make a hissing sound. He exhales and I hear footfalls as he moves to the next person. I don't see him, but I assume that it's Marvel, the boy from District 1. The Tributes lets out a euphoric sigh before the yelling begins. To hear a grown boy or man scream like that is awful. Like watching a dog being kicked. I shudder. Cato and Clove, who I remember from the Reapings, are next. They do the same, as do the Tributes from the next several Districts. I'm afraid. The man is going to do the same to me.

I want to scream right there and then. The pained moans from the other side of the room sound like a zombie apocalypse. I shudder again, shuffling uncomfortably on the table. Or am I writhing? I try to break free. I feel the moment the metal cuts through my skin on the back side of my wrists, and the pain is sharp. I stop and cry out. I keep tugging. And tugging. This is going to break my wrists. But he's only a doctor. If I can grab something with a bio-hazard label, or even just a regular injection, maybe I could stab him and make my escape. I try to force my way through. Is it possible for me to break these? The pain becomes intense and I scream.

My ears clouded with pain and the sound of myself crying, I can barely hear the rushed footfalls. I peek when the man stops next to me. I open my eyes but can't see his face through the agony light.

"Bella, Bella, Bella. It's going to be fine," he promises. I growl. It is _not _going to be fine, he's going to poison me! And he calls himself a doctor!

_"_Monster_," _I accuse.

He is silent.

I hear cabinets opening, metal clashing, and finally a sigh as the sadist finds what he's looking for. It occurs to me that I can't seem to find emotions in me other than hatred. I used to know what it was he was doing, I should know. He's using a sort of painful venom from some sort of creature... I don't know what. I don't know why I hate him so much, he obviously didn't want this. But I watched him inject liquid fire into Glimmer's blood.

He ambles over to me. Twenty-two already. I'm the last to go. The screams have stopped, maybe the morphling holds them down enough to keep them still. But that won't change the pain.

"Bella," he says. I brace myself for the agony. He leans in closely. Is he leaning so close to see my reaction to pain? He's from the Capitol. Like the whole lot, he enjoys causing people pain. He whispers, "Bella, this is called morphling. It's one of the most powerful painkillers in existence. It won't paralyze like morphine. It's a euphoric drug. You'll feel the pain but you won't care about it."

What? Why is he giving me morphling? I feel the syringe in my arm.

Suddenly there is no hard metal table. I'm floating on a cloud, the air warm, and sunlight is dripping on my face. Beauty is everywhere. There is no pain, there is no darkness. And there is most certainly not a Panem and a Hunger Games. I briefly wonder where Edward is. I quickly decide I don't need him. Why would I need anything besides this? Thirst, hunger, rest, sleep, happiness, oh, that's nothing. This is bliss. This is pure bliss. I was never Reaped, I never went to Panem, I never fell in love with Edward, I never moved to Forks, I was never even born. I've always been here, in this wonderful bliss, haven't I? I seem to recall darkness in my past. But what is darkness? How can I even imagine darkness here?

A sigh parts my lips and suddenly I'm on the hospital table. I don't like it. My body is here, my mind is there. I like my mind much better. I drift away, ignoring the fact that I even have a body.

"Bella, this _will _hurt," he says.

I manage a nod and hear the sound of rustling. I don't care. I sigh again, this time the cloud of endless joy still enveloping my mind. I hear the sounds of so-called reality. They don't matter. I feel an injection in my arm. A needle. There is instant burning throughout my body. My body that I know longer care about. I feel it, but it's irrelevant to the bliss. Fire, acid, burning, flames. My arms being sawed off. So what? I can enjoy this forever, can't I?

Some irrelevant part of me says that this is wrong. This is bad. Something is happening to me and it will never stop. I can't risk losing myself in this. I struggle to hold onto what is real, to my memories. I struggle to find a reason for me to want them. I want to keep a grasp on the world, but what is there to cling to?

I am eternally grateful when a solemn voice brings me back to reality.

"Tell him," the man says, and I'm confused.

My consciousness is on a slippery slope. I'm drifting further and further away into the cloud. Before my thoughts become entirely incoherent, the man whispers two words, dripping with urgency.

_"Tell her."_

* * *

Please consider reviewing, it doesn't take long. I'd also love to hear your theories on what's going to happen next...

See you Wednesday!

~Sun


	7. The Interviews

I **completely **forgot that I was supposed to update today. When I remembered, I put everything on hold to edit this. I would say sorry, but it isn't that late, so... enjoy? I'm a little worried, though... this is where things get interesting.

* * *

_The __**Interviews**_

* * *

I wasn't aware that the screams were coming from me. In fact, I'm still in doubt that they were. I felt the pain, I just couldn't care less about it. Even then, it was bearable. Now, awakening on this cursed table for the second time, both the pain and utter bliss have disappeared. I _need_ more of the morphling, and I shudder at the thought. After one usage, I'm addicted. I inhale.

There's something wrong. I take another breath, and realize suddenly that the air brings no relief. I inhale again, several times, trying to confirm what I know to be true. I don't need the air. But I _like _it. I can literally taste the room around me. Every scent is so unique, so different. Most are sweet, some are foul, and precious few are mouthwatering.

Mentally cursing the Capitol with every offense I know, I attempt to sit upright. I'm still shackled. I pull on the cuffs, tug on them with all of my strength, but they don't break. To make matters worse, I'm blindfolded. And the _thirst. _It's like I haven't had anything to drink in days. Well, then again, I haven't.

I breathe through my teeth, knowing how much I hate these people. Although I'd like to believe that this is part of an experiment, I know what the point of this really is. This is for the Games. They've collected vampire venom from heaven-knows-where and used it on twenty-three children! The hiss escaping me is inhuman, though I'm really beyond caring. _Yes. _Of _course _I wanted this. Not like this. Not as a part of these ridiculous Games. Are they going to throw us into the arena and wait for us to go mad from the thirst?

At this point, I wouldn't be surprised. A supernatural arena? It must be a dream come true for the Capitol. They've probably taken their sweet time creating a mystical ambiance for the place. I can imagine it now. Oriental wolves, snow covered pine trees, maybe a moss coated lamppost, and, naturally, reds. There will be red everywhere for added effect and the hint of blood. They've turned this year's Games into a twisted fairytale.

How the audience will enjoy watching us die.

I give the shackles another tug. I recall that woman saying something about modifying the venom. Perhaps they've deprived us of superhuman strength? More likely they've found something strong enough to contain vampires. To contain _me. _All of this for their Games? I hate them even more now, and I'm furious with Alice for not telling me. I suppose Edward did, back on the Tribute Train, but that was indirect.

"... she's awake. That's the last one," says the woman whose voice I heard earlier. It sounds so different now. Like I'm hearing for the first time. "Leave."

"I'm free to go?" the doctor asks.

"A guard outside will escort you to your new assignment."

"Yes, ma'am," he says who gave me the morphling. I hear and smell him walk away. Have humans always smelled like that? Surprisingly, the scent is mouthwatering but not at all tempting. I can handle it easily.

Ah. The modifications to the venom. Naturally, they wouldn't want the Tributes slaughtering everyone in the Capitol. So I should be able to resist. But I can't guarantee it with Effie Trinket around.

The woman walks up to me and peals off my blindfold. And saw for the first time.

Everything was so _clear. _Sharp. Defined. The light above me as radiant as the sun, and yet it neither blinded me nor hurt my eyes. I could see it clearly, perfectly. I could distinguish the colors of the spectrum. The scarlet, the orange, the lemon, the jade, the sapphire, the indigo, and the violet, and another color, indescribably different from colors I'd seen before and recognizably a primary one, looming at the edge of the spectrum.

Beyond the light I can see the individual motes of dust, dancing and bouncing off of each other. They collide and break into smaller pieces. I can even hear the almost silent crash of it. It was so clear, the difference between where the light gleamed off of them and where they were shadowed. They spun around in little dances, like tiny planets floating through the air on a speck of dust.

Not important, I tell myself. This isn't Horton Hears a Who, and that is most definitely not a planet.

"Isabelle Swan. Aged seventeen years, nine months, fourteen days. Correct?" she asks. I had forgotten her.

I nod.

"That is your final age. You will no longer age," she states. There is no emotion whatsoever in her voice. It's unnerving. She's some sort of robot. Or at least, I _would _think that if it weren't for the _thrum thrum thrum _of her heartbeat.

"Why did you do this?" I ask. I'm hearing my voice for the first time. It's velvet and so very different from the voice I know to be mine. It sounds almost like singing. I try to ignore it. I'm sure this woman is sick of endlessly waiting for the newborns to come to their senses. But there's so much to see, to smell, and to hear...

"For the Games." I forgot that I was waiting for an answer. Again.

"You wanted drama?" I ask in an accusing tone that hardly sounds like a question.

She nods. "We also want to see how the audience reacts to vampires. It's a peace offering, to some extent. If you didn't realize it, you are one of them, Isabelle Swan," she says harshly. Does she think I'm _stupid?! _I glower at her. If only looks could kill.

"I realized that."

"You are handling it surprisingly well. I am aware that the male Tribute from your District was previously a vampire?"

It's my turn to nod.

"Perhaps you were prepared for it, then..." she stops pondering and her attention goes back to me. "You are underneath the Tribute Center." That close to home/prison? "I will escort you to the elevator and give you access. You may return to your quarters."

"That's it?" I query.

"Yes."

"You're not worried about me going off and killing someone?" I ask sarcastically.

"Even the strongest pay the price," she says. Her words are a thinly veiled threat.

It seems a little odd for them to kidnap me, give me vampire venom, and escort me back to my home/prison for another day or two.

She leads me down a series of convoluted hallways and doors. I marvel at everything. She rolls her eyes. She finally shoves me into the elevator, slides her card into a slot, presses a few buttons, and I shoot up towards the sky. I know I'm moving upwards by my instincts. The doors open and I'm back at the penthouse.

Edward. He sits on a sofa talking with Effie and Haymitch. Cinna and Portia recline on chairs in other parts of the room. Conversation ceases as I enter the room. He stands and inspects me as I inspect him. I almost laugh at myself as I again gaze in awe at his perfection. In my human days, I was blind.

I hold myself perfectly still, waiting for him to comprehend. He leaps over the couch. Even my new eyes can't see how quickly he moves. Edward reaches out tentatively and strokes his fingertips across my cheek. Smooth as satin, soft as a feather, and now exactly matched to the temperature of my skin. The touch is different now, of course, as is everything else. In fact, it's better. I'm grateful at the very least to the Capitol for making the thirst more bearable. I can enjoy emotions while I adjust to the new me. They really have thought of everything to make us comfortable before they kill us.

This _is _everything I could ever hope for, I decide. Just under the worst of circumstances.

I throw my arms around him, locking Edward into an embrace. It happens in an instant. There is no fraction of a second that it takes me to move. It's like I'm teleporting, like there is no movement at all. He's warm, or at least that was my perception. It's wonderful, thrilling really, as is everything else in this new life. Or is it death? I don't know and I don't really care. I know which one it will be next week.

Then he shifts his weight uncomfortably. I'm confused and slightly shocked as he leans away.

"Um, careful, Bella... _ow," _he says. I jerk away. I'm too strong. On another level, I'm aware that Effie is coming towards us.

"Oops," I say aloud, pulling away. For a moment he is silent, on the verge of words, but he frowns.

"That could be a problem in the Games," he says.

And then I realize it, too. Everyone else will have an advantage over him. Strength.

Effie chooses now to burst in. "So they actually did it? _Yay! _They've been talking about having a vampiric Hunger Games for _years. _I guess they've finally perfected the venom. Are you alright, Isi?" she asks with a grin.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine," I manage, a little overwhelmed.

"So the thirst... is it as bad as they say it is?" she trills.

"Uh, no. I think they fixed that—"

"That's wonderful. I was a little worried for a second..." She adjusts her wig, which has leaned severely to the left.

"You should be," I murmur, too quickly and quietly for her to hear. Edward grins.

Cinna stands from where he sat and rushes to me before Effie can break through my self-control. I wanted to bite her _before _the Capitol changed me.

"Well, you look beautiful, Isi. Is that a side affect..?" he begins.

I nod.

"Your prep team would say you actually look human," says Cinna, and I manage a dry laugh. It sounds more like bells. "Would you like to see?"

Cinna leads me down and back to my room, which I won't be needing. I was hoping to spend at least one night in that bed. It _still _looks so soft...

Edward trails behind me and whispers,

"They fixed the thirst?"

"I overheard them talking about modifications to the venom. I don't think they want us destroying the Capitol..."

"Sounds like they're trying to create an army."

I shrug and continue walking. It feels strange, traveling at a human pace. I had plenty of practice while I was with the woman downstairs, but still. It seems _wrong. _And that's when I step into the bathroom. And see the mirror.

My first reaction is a little gasp. I notice as Cinna smiles, but the greater part of my attention is riveted on the woman in the mirror. The alien creature is stunning, almost as unearthly as the people in the Capitol. Except not grotesque. She's indisputably beautiful. Her flawless face is as pale as porcelain. She is almost aglow in contrast with her raven locks.

Then horror. Who is she? I can't find my face amidst her ethereal beauty. And the eyes, a florid scarlet, gleaming back at me. Something about the bloodshot crimson sends a wave of terror through me, a sort of warning sign that the animal, though alluring, is wild and feral. She's a predator. I watch as her lips contort into a frown. I glance at Edward. A vampire's eyes aren't supposed to be _that _red. Their ruby is nearly glowing with the vermillion.

"The eyes," I whisper, unwilling to say _my _eyes. Edward seems to notice my discomfort. "They're not supposed to be that red."

He nods sadly. "It must be a Capitol modification."

Naturally. I've seen people here with eyes that _do _glow, and then some with irises a brighter ruby than even mine. "How long?"

"That depends on the arena," he utters softly.

Will they have no blood in the entire arena? The blood of donors? Synthesized? Animals to hunt?

"I imagine we can coordinate the eyes to go with your dress," says Cinna. "Your interviews are tomorrow tonight. Don't get to discouraged over the color. It goes well with the girl on fire theme."

"What's the schedule?" asks Edward. "We have training, right?"

Haymitch chimes in. "You'll have four hours with Effie on presentation and four with me on content," he says. "You have Effie first, Isi. And Edward— you have me."

"So we're going to work separately? And what happened to the training and training scores?" I ask. He scowls and gestures to me. I examine my arms. I'm more physically fit than I've ever been. Training would be a waste of time. But what about the scores? He finally responds.

"It would be difficult to even see a difference between strength and speed. You move too fast, and they don't want you breaking down the training center. But they know how vampires each have their gifts. You have a couple of days to find yours, and then we'll tell the Gamemakers." The Gamemakers are the people who run the Games and decide on the arena. "Then they give training scores. Based on your abilities. But they don't reveal the gifts."

"Not all vampires have abilities" says Edward.

"The ones the Capitol created do," he replies. Edward nods at him.

"I'm telepathic," he says. Haymitch considers this for a few seconds. I consider volunteering the fact that he can't read my mind.

"We know that," Effie sneers. "That's not really going to help, is it?"

"I'll know what people are doing even if they're a mile away," says Edward. He pauses to smirk at her. "And how's little Viviana?" he asks, obviously pertaining to someone she knows.

Effie gasps. "Bella, you're with me. Come on!" she shouts, marching away.

I don't know what Effie could teach me that would take four entire hours. She laces me up in a full length gown and high heels and has me pace back and forth for about five minutes until she realizes that vampires are anything but clumsy. I finally untie the shoes and replace them where Effie found them. It takes me about have a second. Afterwards is sitting and posture. Evidently I'm better at not slouching, but I'm not making eye contact. She coaches me on hand gestures, which feel distinctly human. Even after a few hours, it's hard for me to remember how to fidget.

Finally, she sighs, then shouts. "Isabella Swan, you had _best _close your mouth! You're going to catch a fly that way. It is absolutely, positively, _improper _to just _sit there with your mouth open! _Look, _dear," _she sneers that word, "Edward may _love _to see your tongue. But the Capitol does not! We like smiles. And we like _good _actors! So you had better close your mouth before I close it for you!"

I growl, but then admit bashfully, "I have allergies..."

"Not anymore, you don't!" she shrieks. "For the last time. _Close. Your. Mouth." _

She makes me recite a thousand phrases while smiling, starting with a smile, and finishing with a smile. I'm not a smiler, and she keeps telling me that my grins look completely fake.

"You can't just sit there with a blank stare and a monotone voice! You look awful, even when your mouth is closed!" she snaps. "Just try and pretend for once! See? Like this." She gives me a very real looking smile. "I'm smiling at you and being civilized even though you're making me furious."

"Yeah, well _you're _not the newborn vampire!" I snarl.

"Could you at least _pretend _to be human? It'll make you stand out.

She helps me with my smile until I'm sure it seems genuine. Then Effie begins working on what she calls "the variations of the smile" with me.

"There are happy smiles, fake smiles, sad smiles, genuine smiles, laughing smiles, half-smiles, and so many other ones." I wonder why you would want to give a fake smile.

By lunch, which I don't actually need, I'm as exhausted as physically possible for me. They bring a bottle of something warm and oozing, which I suppose is synthetic blood. Edward tells me not to drink it and that he's never tasted anything worse. I sip it and decide that he's right on the taste, but it soothes my throat. I hadn't realized how much it burned. Haymitch and Edward seem to be in relatively good moods, and I decide to join in the happiness, however brief it may be.

After lunch, Haymitch takes me to the sitting room. I practice my posture while he stares at me, frowning. I hope he knows that I _am _capable of taking his head off. It's infuriating.

"What?" I finally hiss.

"Take a chill pill, _sweetheart," _he says. "I'm trying to figure out what to do with you. How we're going to present you. Are you going to be charming? Aloof? Fierce? So far you're a shining... no _sparkling—" _I growl. "— star. You volunteered to save a close friend. A sister, even. Cinna made you look unforgettable. People are intrigued, but no one knows who you are. The impression you make tonight will decide exactly what I can get you in terms of sponsors," he says.

"What's Edward's approach?" I ask.

"Proper. Likable. And confident," he says. "But right now you come across as either shy or hostile."

"I do not!"

"Everyone else is going to come across as hostile, it's only natural. But I want you and Edward to stand out. So I have to come up with something else. Whatever approach we go with, though, I need you to be cheery."

"And you've given me so many reasons to be cheery."

"But you don't have to please me. I'm not going to sponsor you, I can't. So you pretend I'm the audience. _Delight _me."

"Fine." Haymitch pretends to be the interviewer, and I attempt to answer the questions with a smile, but I can't. I'm too angry with the Capitol, with Haymitch, with everyone, and I honestly can't control it. The longer is goes on, the more of my fury rises to the surface, and then I'm hissing one syllable answers at him. My throat is on fire.

"All right, enough. We need another angle. I don't know anything about you and I've asked at least fifty questions. They want to know about you, Isi."

"How can I let them know about me? They're stealing my future! I _have no future!" _I yell at him. He rolls his eyes and mutters something unintelligible.

"Lie. Make something up."

"I'm a _really _bad liar."

"Well, right now you're coming off as a bratty dead slug."

He softens a little after that. His tone was very sharp and cruel, and it hurts a little. I'm surprised at my restraint. He does know _what _he's talking to, right? "Here's an idea," he says. "If we're going to portray Edward as a good boyfriend, why don't you try being the ideal girlfriend. You're stunning, so act like it." Somehow, he managed to turn "stunning" into an insult.

The next hours are horrific. It's clear quickly that I'm not exactly the seductive or sensual type. He tries cocky on me, but I'm most certainly not arrogant, and despite my ability to tackle a tank if I wanted to, I couldn't be fierce if my life depended on it. I have no wit whatsoever, and I can't be funny. Aloof seems to work for a little while, but Haymitch says it's unattractive. Mysterious is utterly awful on me, and it doesn't work.

"Fine then," he snaps. "Try acting humble."

"Humble," I echo.

"That you can't believe a little girl from District 12 has done this well. The whole thing's been more than you ever could have dreamed of. Talk about Cinna's clothes. How nice the people are. How the city amazes you. If you won't talk about yourself, at least compliment the audience. Just keep turning it back around. Gush," he says.

Gushing actually works for me, but I'm too furious with he and myself by then that I come across as a bit rude and outrageous.

"I give up, Isi! Just... fine, I give up. You're not going to have a chance at getting sponsors, and it's not my fault."

"But I _can _gush! Just give me a chance!"

"I _have _given you a chance, and you didn't take it! I think you could be anything if you wanted to. Try being nice. Or whatever. I give up."

He marches out of the room and I march to mine. Edward follows me. He puts a hand on my shoulder. I shriek at him not to touch me. The newborn fury hasn't gone away, even with the thirst little more than an annoying insect buzzing in my ear. I don't know why I'm furious. I storm through the door and onto my bed. Standing, sitting, laying down... it's all the same to me. I'm not tired at all, except mentally.

The room doesn't fare too well. I take out my anger at the Capitol and Effie and Haymitch and Edward and the world on the room and several pillows. After the place is covered in feathers, I take a bath in the large tub, trying to calm myself. It doesn't work. I return to the bed, where I sit, biting by nails and waiting for time to pass. Lavina comes into the room and gasps as she sees the mess. I don't want to talk to her and I tell her to leave. She sighs and obeys. I whisper an apology, too quiet for her to hear, as she leaves the room.

In the morning, my prep team bursts through the door. Today belongs to Cinna. He's my only hope at getting any sponsors whatsoever. Today is Thursday, tomorrow is the last day before the Games, and Saturday the Games actually begin. I don't have time to worry, I just have to do the best that I can and hope the Capitol likes me.

The team works on me until late afternoon, although I don't think I need any work on my skin. They stencil patterns on my arms and paint flames on my twenty flawless nails. Venia weaves flames and golden beads into my hair after massaging my scalp with some sort of cream. They erase my face with makeup and build a new one with beautiful eyes, lips perfectly formed and full, and false lashes that flame when I blink. Then they sprinkle a bit of gold glitter on my face and arms. I'm not sure how much of this is necessary, considering how I already look, but something that I can't place has improved.

Cinna makes me close my eyes as he slips my dress over my body. It's heavy, but I can bear it. He slides something— a crown, perhaps? — onto my head. I blindly step into a pair of shoes. I adjust carefully, though I know that I'm in no danger of falling down. Silence.

"Isi, you look amazing," he says. Do I? I hope so.

"Can I open my eyes?" I question.

"Yes," he says.

The goddess standing before me in the full length mirror has come from another world. Where skin sparkles and eyes glow and clothes are made of jewels. The dress is decked in precious gems, red and yellow and white with blues that accent the tips of the flame design. The slightest movement gives the impression that I am on fire. The dramatic highlights on my face give the appearance of ferocity, and the crimson eyes against the vampiric pallor are nearly aglow. My ebony tresses, lustrous with the fiery color, flow around my back and shoulders, something about it reminding me of smoke.

I am not aflame; I am the fire itself, more radiant than the sun.

I gaze at myself: my face, my porcelain white skin, my hair, wispy as smoke. And my eyes. . . something about the makeup they've used has even turned my eyes into miniature fires of their own.

Deadwood remembers life, as does my heart. That which is dead can live again as fire. And as the flames of something I've never before tasted lick at my soul, now painlessly charring from the heat, I'm sure that, in the midst of my impending death, I've never felt more alive.

"Cinna," I manage. Somehow setting me ablaze has calmed my internal infernos. "Thank you."

"Twirl for me," he says with a grin, the same spark aglow in his eyes. I'm not a child, and I feel odd. I forget this as I hold out my arms and spin in a circle. I can only imagine how it looks as I go faster and faster until I'm little more than a blur. The prep team squeals with delight until I, at long last, stop. Cinna asks the team to leave. They do.

"So, all ready for the interview then?" he asks. He must have been talking with Haymitch. And Edward, who undoubtedly hates me right now. He must know that I am utterly dismal.

"Haymitch called me a bratty dead slug," I admit. "I can't act."

"Why don't you just be yourself?"

"Because I _am _a bratty dead slug. Well, more of a bratty dead bat. A sparkling bratty dead rodent," I say.

Cinna restrains a laugh, but, when he fails, I laugh, too. "You're amazing, Is— Bella. You just have to be yourself. And you're going to hate me for saying this, but it's time to step out of Edward's shadow."

The murk of a shade is no place for a fire. I nod bitterly. "I know."

Cinna takes my cold hands in his warm ones. "When you answer the questions, pretend you're talking to someone back home. Besides Edward, who would your best friend be?" he asks.

"Alice," I say after a pause. "But she already knows those things about me."

"What about me?" he asks "Could I be a friend?"

"I—"

"I'll be sitting on the main platform with the other stylists. You'll be able to look right at me. When you're asked a question, find me, and answer it as honestly as possible."

I nod. It makes sense, I'll be able to speak without sounding sullen, hostile, or just plain nervous.

It's time to leave too soon. Last night time passed at a crawl and now it's going at breakneck speed. The interviews happen on a stage in erected in City Circle.

Cinna opens the door in silence. We meet everyone else at the elevator.

Edward looks striking in his black suit with flame accents. I thought it wasn't possible, but... I'm more beautiful than he. There's no comparison. I am fire, he is ice.

"You look beautiful, Bella," he says. I smile.

The elevator opens and the other tributes are lined up to take the stage. We surround the stage, sitting down in an arc throughout the night. I'll be second to last. The girl Tribute goes first. I wish I could get this all out of the way. I have to listen to everyone else. And the audience will get bored. It's hopeless.

We parade onto the stage, and Edward holds my hand. The Capitol has successfully turned every Tribute. Everyone's pretty at the very least. One of them, Glimmer, is so radiant that I doubt Rosalie could hold a candle to her. I fumble with the memory of Rose's face and nearly groan. It's shrouded in darkness; shadowed. A thick, black veil covers all of those memories. I do a quick run through of my entire life since I can remember, trying to brand it into my mind. It's difficult, like looking through sunglasses that are ten inches thick. So blurred.

I wonder why they're so confident that we won't hurt anyone until I hear the hum of a forcefield. I doubt I could have heard it before, but I'm glad I do. I might have bumped into it. Stepping onto the stage makes my non-necessary breathing erratic. I'm glad about what happened, for once, because I'm sure I would trip otherwise. I finally sit down on the chair they have arranged for me. The seats are in a semicircle on the stage.

Although it's far beyond twilight, the City Circle is brighter than day. There are a few seats for the wealthier guests, and the stylists are on the front row. I manage to find Cinna in the sea of people. A balcony full of the Gamemakers is off to the right. Very few people are sitting, though. Avenues are packed with people, and there's only standing room. I know that every citizen of Panem is watching right now. I wonder how many are looking at me.

Caesar Flickerman bounces onto the stage. His hair is blue, and his lips and eyelids are the same shade. Although it's rather odd, he looks better than he did at the closing ceremonies last year. He was red and it looked like he was covered in blood. Or like he was Count Dracula.

Glimmer looks provocative in a golden dress that covers very little of her legs. She joins Caesar for her interview. She reminds me of Rosalie in many ways, but her giant smile and sly glances at the camera set the difference. Caesar talks with her about what she thinks about this whole "vampire thing," and she replies that she's very grateful for the opportunity to be pretty.

"I was never even close. Now... at least I'm presentable," she whispers slyly. She _knows _she's pretty, but that seems to win some of the audience over.

Each interview only lasts three minutes. Then a buzzer goes off and the next Tribute is up. Caesar does his best to make everyone shine. He's friendly, sets nervous ones at ease, laughs at poorly worded jokes, and turns weak responses into memorable ones by the way he reacts.

District 2, 3, 4. Everyone uses at least one angle. The boy from District 2 is monstrous and could probably destroy Felix with one hand if he were still in existence. The fox-faced girl, whose name I learn is Melanie, from 5 is cunning and mysterious. 8, 9, 10. Edward gives my hand, which I forgot he was holding, a squeeze. He can tell I'm nervous. I hold my breath, and it's like a noisy room suddenly becoming quiet. I keep it that way, afraid to release the breath. 11.

Rue flutters onto the stage. A hush falls over the stage at this wisp of a Tribute appears. She practically dances her way to the center. Caesar is very sweet with her, and, as she smiles kindly, I wonder if it's her tenderness that she carried into this brief second life. She doesn't even pause when Caesar asks about her greatest strength. "I'm hard to catch. If they can't catch me, they can't kill me. And I'm as strong as any of them are. Don't count me out." She looks so fragile, but I remember that Jane is, physically, only about a year older than she.

Jane. I tune out the interview and find her in the audience. She's near invisible against the crowd, but I see that she's with someone. Marcus. So the Volturi _aren't _gone? They were bombed in a war. They're supposed to be dead. I suppose _some _of them might be. If Chelsea, Aro's mate with the ability to influence emotional ties, died, then Marcus would finally be free to leave. And if Jane, too, had been planning an escape, would she not also flee? Somehow I feel there's more to all of this. She detects me looking at her and shakes her head "no."

Did she _know _what they were going to do to us? I hate her more than ever.

Thresh, the massive other Tribute from 11, has concluded his interview. I, more nervous than I was for the Reaping what feels like years ago, prance to center stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Isabelle Swan, the girl on fire!" he announces taking my hand before setting me down in the chair.

Don't be nervous, don't be nervous, don't be nervous.

"That was quite an entrance you made at the parade," he says with a smile. If I had a heart it would be pounding. I pause, awkwardly.

"I was mostly hoping I wouldn't burn to a crisp," I reply. Caesar laughs, and I realize some of the audience does, too.

"So, Isabelle, the Capitol must be quite a change from District 12. What's impressed you most since you've arrived here?" he asks. Well, if I'm _honest... _I cock my head so as not to seem too awkward.

"The forcefield. Of the Tribute Tower," I respond finally.

"And why's that?" he inquires.

I bit my lip before answering. "I fell off."

Caesar feigns horror as some of the audience chuckles. "Were you scared?"

"It was fun," I answer honestly. "I thought about doing it again."

"Now, Isi," he says confidently, and I wonder how he knows that nickname. "When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped."

"So did mine," I say, a nervous chuckle escaping me.

"What did you think of the costume?"

"You mean after I got over my fear of being burned alive?" I ask.

Big laugh. I wasn't even trying to be funny.

"I thought Cinna was amazing. I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I'm having a heard time with this one, too." I lift up my skirt a little bit.

The audience gasps. I really do look like I'm on fire. I see Cinna make a circular motion with his finger. He wants me to twirl again. I stand and spin in a circle once.

"Oh, do that again!" says Caesar. I lift up my hands over my head and spin again, letting the dress engulf me in flames. The audience cheers. I stop after a minute and sit back down. I look a little dizzy, but really it's because I'm nervous. I think I'm incapable of being disoriented. Caesar wraps a protective arm around me. "Don't worry, I've got you. Can't have you following in your mentor's footsteps."

Everyone's chuckling as the cameras find Haymitch. He certainly made an impression with his nosedive at the Reaping. Suddenly I see an opportunity for a joke, even if it's not mine. "You should probably keep him away from me," I say. "With all that alcohol, I doubt he's safe around an open flame."

Lots of laughter, even from the Tributes behind us.

"So, about the vampirism. Were you aware of it, back in District 12?"

"Yes, I was, actually. I was expecting it to be much worse." Not very interesting, so he's going to move on to something else.

"Ah, then. Let's go back to the moment that Alice's name was called at the Reaping. How do you know her?"

I can't tell them! But I could tell Edward. And maybe Cinna. But I'll have to lie, at least somewhat. "I don't have parents. Her family raised me. Until..." I don't want to tell them about the mining incident. Never. "And Alice is my sister. I think of her as my sister."

"What did she say to you? After the Reaping?" asks Caesar.

"She said she was worried. And that... she thought I was going to make a difference. That I was going to make an impression."

"And what did you say?" he prompts.

"I didn't have the time."

"Might I ask, why did you volunteer?"

"... because her family— my family— needs her. And, at the time, I didn't think they needed me. But now I realize that they do. And Alice, Esme? I promise I'm going to try. I promise I'll try to win."

Caesar takes my hand and presses a kiss to it as a buzzer goes off. "And try you will," he says. He pulls me to stand. "Ladies and gentlemen, Isabelle Swan, the girl on fire!" he shouts, holding my hand high in the air. Lots of cheering. I did it. I actually did it!

I'm sent back to my seat as Edward takes his place. I'm in a bit of a daze and I can't tell what they're talking about. He makes people laugh, and I'm certain he has the charm he always does. This is his moment of truth. Where he reveals that he's in love with me and makes the Capitol fall in love with him. Caesar finally asks the question that leads to me.

"So, handsome boy like you. Do you have someone special? Back home?" asks Caesar.

_Come on, Edward. Just say it. _

"No," he says with a sigh.

"Oh, come one. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" Edward looks down at the ground. "She have another fellow?"

"It's complicated."

"Well, you know. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, even if it is complicated."

"It isn't going to work out. Winning... won't help in my case," he says.

"Why ever not?" inquires Caesar, mystified. Edward sighs and looks directly into the camera.

"Because she came here with me." The cameras find my face, and I go back to my mouth-open-emotionless-poker face. It comes across as shock.

"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," says Caesar.

"It's not good," Edward agrees.

"She didn't know?"

"I don't think she ever even noticed me until the Reaping."

"I'm sorry. I'm very sorry," says Caesar. "A piece of bad luck..." I see Cinna motioning for me to stand right now, so I do. Edward and I lock eyes for a moment, and the silence is deafening. "But I wish you two all the best of luck."

Edward chokes a quiet "thank you" as the crowd roars. He returns to me. While his back is to the cameras, he grins at me. Poor tragic us. We'll be unforgettable. Everyone else stands for the anthem. Some people, no doubt hopeless romantics, are on the verge of tears. It worked.

The lights go out. It's over and time to go back to our personal little prison. We ascend to the highest floor and this part of my day is over. Effie and Haymitch congratulate us. Evidently this will help us gain sponsors. Sponsors that I'm really not going to need. Either way, being popular could help, depending on the arena. And now that they have Tributes that literally sparkle, I'm sure they'll find a way to make the arena gleam. Gleam with bloodshed.

"Finally," Edward utters. I sigh as he wraps his arms around me again. I'm more careful this time, remembering his "ow" earlier today. It's so much to take in. Even without the added becoming a newborn, everything is so overwhelming. I want to curl up in a ball and observe the world for a few weeks, just trying to understand everything in my all-too confusing world. Reason fled the world the moment Jane stepped through the door. But I don't have time to understand.

The Games must go on.

* * *

So, everyone. What do you think? Do consider letting me know. Feedback, even negative feedback, makes me want to write.

~Sun


	8. The Visitor

A/N: This chapter is, well, very odd. It may answer some questions. Also, I wrote my first "real" kiss scene, even if it's only a couple of paragraphs.

Next Sunday, I'm posting the chapter with the Games!

Chapter 8:

* * *

_The __**Visitor**_

* * *

Edward and I "talk" on the roof for three hours after the interviews. He is eager to spend time with me. I am not. We sit, leaning close together and my fingers intertwined with his, in silence. The stars gleam above as we wait for the advent of dawn. Everything feels too wrong for the dying embers of my love to reignite. I'm going to die. The realization is so real, becoming sharper by the second. I thought I could see my fast approaching end the moment that I volunteered. Now, though, after the interviews, I see it so clearly. It's like opening my eyes to a new world. It's like yesterday morning, when I learned how _much _there is to see.

It isn't the fact that my end is coming that forces my spirits below the ground. _Physically,_ these Games have already changed me. If I'm going to die, which I am, I want to still be me. But I can't. They've already proven that they own me— my body, my soul— and that I'm little more than a piece in their Games, ready to be sacrificed at will.

"We were supposed to have forever," I murmur, leaning my head on Edward's shoulder, futilely trying to relax. He runs his fingers through my sooty locks, still silken with the balms from earlier today.

"We have today and tomorrow," he says into my hair.

Today and tomorrow and the days after that are supposed to be nothing more than small but perfect pieces of our ever-blissful forever. "It's not enough," I complain after a few half-seconds.

"You don't know that," he says. "I'm an experienced fighter," he says.

"And everyone else is newborn."

"Including you."

"We're not Career Tributes," I say. "And sponsors aren't really going to do anything in these Games."

"They'll decide if you go mad from thirst or not," he says.

"That depends on the arena," I reply and he sighs, giving me a desperate, defeated look. He looks _vulnerable. _I don't like it.

"Bella," he says. No. No. No! You are _not _giving me this speech! "I don't intend to survive this, and you know it. I'm asking you. If you live, and Iwill do everything in my power to ensure that you do... don't do anything reckless."

_That's what you said last time, _I accuse mentally, even though he can't hear me. Instead, I nod, keeping my lips firmly pressed together. There is hardly anything to say. Goodbye doesn't cover it, and farewell is too solemn. This is a parting that was never meant to happen. We have tomorrow, and then it's time to die. "Fine."

"Bella..." he begins, but whatever he was going to say is lost to the kiss.

I pull him closer, certain that _this _of all things will take my attention away from everything. His hand, live with electric current, starts at my cheek and then brushes downwards before fitting to the contour of my waist. My head is buzzing with nervousness, my wild vampiric reactions taking me off guard. He's never, not once, kissed me like _this,_ and he shows no sign of stopping.

It feels wrong to be this close to someone right before you're going to die. Reluctantly, I finally stand, managing to pull my fingers off of his. He frowns, and I don't really have an excuse. I need time to think, and I can't tell him.

I return to my room, most of me still yearning to return to the roof. I don't exactly know what possessed me to come here— it's not like I need the rest— and I consider going back up. I lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. It was a bit rude to leave like that. Maybe we should pick up where we left off. As I stand, I notice something sitting on the dresser. I narrow my eyes. A letter.

I blur into action. At top speed, I pluck it off of the wooden surface, carefully reading the words, written in an elaborate red script that looks like blood against the faded paper.

_732 E. Avenue — Guards Are Off Duty — Come_

I sigh, but I'm curious. I tiptoe out of the room and appear in the elevator, too quickly for human eyes to see. I press the button and peek. Every single one of the Peacekeepers that usually guard the Tribute Tower are off duty. Someone in power must really want to see me. And I know who without second guessing myself. She seems to have an odd fixation with me these days. I've seen her three times, and she's supposed to be dead, and so is Marcus, who I saw last night.

I consider returning to my room upstairs, but it occurs to me that this is a chance to escape the Games. I glance around. Not a soul is in this area. With my superhuman hearing, which is finally proving itself useful, I listen. Conversations throughout the building, but nothing of interest, and no people in the area. Jane has cleared the entire floor just to allow me to escape. I tentatively take my first step out of the elevator.

My first step out of the Capitol's grasp.

No alarms flare, the floor doesn't fall open, and I haven't been disintegrated. Almost as if they don't care. I inhale, and the air tastes different. Fresher, _vibrant _with life, and something that isn't physical like everything else. _Freedom. _The shackles melt off of me, and I feel alive. Liberty pulses through me, replacing my nonexistent heartbeat, becoming as vital a life-force as blood. I'm leading my own, personal, quiet revolution.

I finally spy another note, an envelop, sitting on the front desk. Usually people come and go, touring the place where Tributes are held before they're murdered. I fly to the note, not sure if I even touched the ground, and rip it out of the paper. I flip it over and over, looking for some hidden meaning in the single word. I trace it over and over with my index finger.

_Hurry._

I tuck it into my pocket and fly out the door. A map of the city is situated on the large, concrete sidewalk. I glance around, feeling strangely free in this ever-constraining metropolis. I find "732 E. Avenue." It's a restaurant. Like I need to eat...

I consider fleeing to the outer rim of the city and beyond that: the mountains. I could survive. I'm hardly obliged to help Jane.

Instead, I hail a taxi.

"You alright, miss?" a driver asks, an accent more frilly than even Effie's trilling off of his tongue. I decide to mimic it— no need to draw attention to myself.

"Yes," I say, "732 East Avenue, please," I say. He doesn't seem to recognize me at all. I guess they only care about us when we're fighting to the death. He looks at me a little strangely. I'm still wearing heavy makeup, but I'm dressed simply. I look like an actual human being, unlike the rest of the Capitol. I turn away, trying not to draw attention to my face. He continues glancing at me in the mirror. I take a deep breath, hiding my cringe as his scent wafts my way.

Although the temptation has mostly faded, it is far more appealing than that thick, bitter, metallic liquid the Capitol has been feeding me. Flames lick at the bottom of my throat, gradually crawling upward and inching downward into my stomach, a hollow hunger beginning to torment me. Effie and Haymitch are easier. They aren't strangers. But here's a cab driver. No one would miss him...

It's the fact that I've already broken so many rules tonight. He catches me staring at him. Blood pools in his cheeks, making them turn a rosy, florid color, so delicious looking against his ashen skin. The ichor pulses through his body, a soft thrum of his heart taunting me. Luscious, crimson nectar— succulent, flavorful, and above all, _mouthwatering. _Which isn't such a good thing when that water isn't water. It's venom, and it stings like I'm swallowing a wasp. I sigh and turn back towards the window. It's like being on a diet while tantalized by the cookie jar, when you finally realize that it's in your reach.

I've no idea why I pity this man. Two nights from now he'll be watching me die.

The car rolls on all too slowly. We finally arrive at our destination. I realize I have no money to offer. After a brief argument, I flash my hunter's eyes at him.

"You don't need the compensation," I purr, reminding myself of Dracula. _What am I doing?! _He nods and speeds away as fast as he can. I hope he doesn't report me. I step inside of 732 E. Avenue, which seems to be a high end restaurant. The best place to hide is in public, I recall from my days in District 12.

Chandeliers. Chandeliers everywhere. And glass... and crystal... I'm completely overwhelmed by this place. My thoughts become incoherent jumbles. Silken tablecloths, people that look like animals, cakes, pastries, and something, something in the back, that smells more delicious than anything I've ever caught scent of before. On top of the sheer extravagance of the place, I'm forced to overcome the size of the palace-like halls. The elegant columns, with figures of Greek and Roman mythology depicted on the base, meet twenty-five feet in the air to form what would be ominous arches if it weren't for the bright lights and warm paintings. Marble tiles, adorned by roses made from amethyst, hang from the ceiling. Stalactite-like gold, sculpted to resemble flowers, replaces grout.

I find myself wandering within a few minutes, immediately drawn to a cake display. Little beads of icing gleam like pearls, others like ribbons. Candies I've never seen before catch my eye. One cake bears a strong resemblance to a satin, embroidered, regal pillow. Even my new eyes have trouble finding flaws in their perfection. Their aroma, although unappealing for my purposes, is dulcet; divine. I run my hand over the top of the display as I go, aching to touch them. I don't want to eat them, not at all. But they are art to me. Delicate, wonderful art. And yet the people here buy and eat them. I see some tables with each person having multiples. Some of them are only taking a few bites before throwing them away. Don't they understand how incredible it is? Don't they understand what they _have? _

I catch a whiff of the other scent, the kind that makes venom pool in my mouth, and spot it in a bottle on the other side of the restaurant. There's a large room, for lack of a better word, filled to the ceiling with shelves, which are filled with wine bottles. A window allows people to see all of the hundreds that they have. A woman who I could mistake for an acrobat fetches them. She wears a wooden contraption, something similar to a harness, covering her upper legs and reaching her waist. When she pushes her legs apart, she shoots upward, and when she presses them together, she drifts down. A rolling ladder or a machine could substitute her, but something tells me that this is a form of Capitol entertainment.

The bottle I have my eyes on is red. There are several of them, I realize. It burns my throat more than the scent of the humans. I know it must be synthesized, nothing else could smell like that. The Capitol has been holding out on us. They're capable of giving us temporary heaven. It hits me like a wrecking ball as I find myself ready to rip this building apart to reach the bottle. I hold my breath, but I already have a memory of it. Is this how they attract immortal customers? Cakes divine enough to attract a vampire, and irresistible ichor that makes me feel like I'm drinking lava.

No wonder this place is so busy.

I suddenly feel someone placing their hand on my shoulder.

"Stop growling, Bella. You'll draw attention to yourself," a voice says. I jump and turn to face a cold looking woman. Not cold as in like me, but blank and expressionless, almost as though she were dead. I instantly register that she's another vampire. I tense a little, though I have no idea why. "Come with me. I have a table for us."

It could be a trap.

She leads me down to a table in a dark and particularly secluded area of the restaurant. I sit down cautiously, as if a wrong step could kill me. She seems confident.

"You may call me Coral. _No, _it's my codename. You are Isabella Swan, correct?" she asks, pulling out something electronic and dabbing on it. I hear beeps and clicks as I nod. "Thank you for coming." She glances around anxiously for a moment. A waiter takes our orders, and she requests the "wine" that I had seen earlier. A look of recognition and panic lights his face, but he brings them a few minutes of silence later. The waiter pours it into two glasses and flees to the safety of the kitchen.

The scent of the exposed blood makes my thirst flare. I don't seem to have a choice as my hand flies, without my permission, to my mouth, goblet in hand. It's rich, slightly salty, and metallic. It's nectarous and divine, so sweet and exquisite... and yet I barely manage a sip. It's like trying to eat an entire red velvet cake at once. I can't do it. I look up to the still silent Coral and glimpse my reflection in her eyes. My lips and chin are far too red. I stain the white napkin, still folded on the table, and place it in my lap. My thirst is less like inhaling flames and more like a bit of smoke. It still burns, but it's bearable.

I expect Coral to speak. I know Jane, or whoever, ordered me here for a reason other than to let me indulge myself. I take another sip of the fluid, rushing in a torrent, and return the glass to the table. Coral doesn't move, but her eyes fall to the glass again. She makes me drain the entire glass — and after that the bottle — before she even begins to speak.

"You're newborn. I may make you aggravated, and the last thing I need is for you to destroy the restaurant," she says. I pretend not to hear her mocking tone of voice. She is silent for another ten seconds, which is long enough to make a bit of fury bubble to the surface.

"Go on," I growl. Coral smirks.

"I am a member of an underground resistance..."

"I _know _that much," I , snarl. Same difference.

"... an underground resistance called the Movement."

"Start at the beginning," I interject. She sighs.

"This will take awhile, but _don't_ interrupt me." I nod. "The Volturi made themselves disappear at the start of the Great War. The knew that an enemy would destroy Volterra, but it was too late. In the bombing, Alec, Felix, Corin, Sulpicia, and Chelsea died. They fled to America, hoping the US and Canada would be safer than Europe. They weren't. Natural disasters destroyed almost everything. But the result was Panem. Aro was broken, and the Volturi dissolved quickly without Chelsea. Someone let slip who had killed Didyme... Marcus, Jane, Heidi, Afton, Demetri, and a few other members left their master.

"Jane became the leader of the, well, coven and, without Chelsea's interference, had been siding with the humans, deciding that hunting an endangered race would be cruel; it would be best to reveal their existence and work together to rebuild the Earth. Really, I think she was just worried that we would run out of humans to feed on... she was joined by another coven— the Egyptian coven. Eventually Stefan, the last of the Romanian coven, joined us, as did several others. Nomads like Peter, Charlotte, Maria, Alistair, and, of course, the Amazon coven joined us. But the French, Chinese, German, Australian, and Ukrainian covens sided with the Volturi.

"Although they were remote and less known... they were powerful. No one could withstand the death curse of Mykola or the telepathic illusions of Kalyna, his sister. Andriy and his mate, Larisa were even worse, with their abilities to capture free will and to vanish and reappear at will. Henri was quick and Yvette, though small, was strong. Micheal was more powerful than Felix. And then there was Melanie... that's a story for another time. But we had Benjamin, a vampire with influence over the elements. He was immune to fire.

"The Volturi worked behind the scenes and were soon in effective control of the Capitol. People came in but not out. Our people were infuriated by the human death toll, and by the number of vampires that they executed. Panem became less of a haven and more of a dystopia. Both we and the Districts wanted out. We rebelled, and Jane promised to win the war for the Districts. That with a little supernatural help, they could win. That's why Panem keeps so much of the Dark Days secret. The Districts, with vampires, genuinely thought they could overthrow the Capitol. They didn't.

"When the Districts lost, she lost. And the Capitol discovered our existence. When they realized what had happened— that vampires had caused the war— they began executing even more of them. The Volturi bought their way out of the death sentence... believe me, they aren't in control anymore, but they have money. It isn't that they aren't hiding, they are, but most people turn a... blind eye to them. Jane had to work to survive, as did her people. We live in the Capitol, just under their noses, fighting them, fighting the Games, and fighting the bloodlust. We have assembled an army of many vampires and many humans, but it isn't enough. The resistance, the Movement, as we call it, is too small. We have to fight both the Capitol _and _the Volturi, and we are outnumbered. We need your help to destroy the Volturi and to overthrow the Capitol. It's time for the two remaining races to unite," she concludes.

"Are you done?" I say. She hisses. "Where do I come in?" I ask, not sure if I entirely believe her tale.

"We have reason to believe that one of our greatest assets is being held captive by the Capitol."

"Why does that involve me?"

"It's... complicated. Your _boyfriend—" _I flinch at the word, it just doesn't seem right for Edward— "is not the only telepath in the Capitol. You are forgetting that we are also working against Aro. Not only are you the closest to the location where the asset is being held, your mind is also secure. The asset is in danger, and—"

I narrow my eyes at her. "Who is this 'asset?'"

"Information can still be extracted from you the... _less pleasant_ way. It is for both your safety and the asset's that you know as little as possible."

"You want me to rescue the 'asset?'" I inquire. She jumps across the table, her hands smacking it so hard that it nearly cracks, leaning in eye to eye with me with clear aggression.

"Isabella Swan, I do not want you to rescue the asset. They would best benefit the Movement in their current position. I want you to _win _the Hunger Games, _find _the asset, _confirm _that they are alive, and _report _back to _me. _Do you _understand?" _she demands. She leans back into her chair, glancing at the now broken table. She's caused a scene. The waiter from earlier is staring at us in horror.

"Yes, ma'am," I say, not quite sure where the "ma'am" came from.

"Then you are now a part of the Movement. Please sign _here." _She hands me a piece of paper and pen. I speed-read the document and take the pen in my hands before scribbling _Isabella Swan _down in the red ink that I recognize clearly. The red is an unusual color. I'm sure I've never seen the exact shade except for in this ink. It must be a code to verify that you _are _speaking with the Movement, and not with a pretender. I pass the pen back to her before realizing something.

An _asset? _In the custody of the Capitol? _"Tell him. Tell her" _rings through my ears, the desperation just as clear as if I was hearing it right now. I don't know who "him" is, but "her?" Why else would he have given me the morphling? It was the asset. "Her" must be Jane. Or Coral. Or someone. I'm sure of it. So I have to ask.

"The asset. Was he a doctor?"

She looks taken aback, and I know I'm right. "It is best that you know nothing. If you knew the circumstances—"

"I've been in contact with him," I exclaim. Coral is shocked.

"Are you certain?" she asks.

"He gave me morphling during my transformation. So that I wouldn't be in pain," I tell her. She looks relieved. The first emotion she's shown. So she knows him personally.

"No, he wasn't a doctor. Or at least, that wasn't his cover. But he had medical knowledge. But he posed as a member of the Districts. We intended to bring him to the Capitol, but they found him first... Did he say anything?" she begs. Perhaps more than personally.

"He told me to tell 'her.' I think he meant you. That he's alive, probably."

She sighs, glancing to the ground. I'm certain she would be blushing if she was human. "No, I'm afraid he didn't mean me."

"Who, then? Jane?" I ask. She shakes her head.

"I already told you. It's best that you don't know the details. I'm just... glad he's alive." Coral glances in another direction before giving me a genuine, sad smile. She seems pained, but so deeply in love. Maybe she is a person, not a robot.

"Wait..." I just remembered. "Was he human?" I inquire. Coral is crestfallen.

"No. He was one of us. Perhaps we're thinking of different people."

I shake my head. "Who else could it be? The Capitol has ways to reverse the vampirism process."

"No. He's what we call a 'Vintage.' He's been around for a long time. I don't think it would be possible."

"It's not supposed to be possible for me to be here, or for Jane to be alive," I counter.

She snarls. "Better dead than human."

I'm surprised at this statement. "Why?"

"It's easier to make them suffer."

_Perhaps we should remind you of our capabilities to make you suffer, _the words of the woman ring in my ears. She's right. Vampires can burn, but after that they can't heal. Humans can be injured and, with the right medicines, can be repaired. I feel a pang of pity for a moment, but mostly for Coral. For some reason I think of the woman who I talked to after waking up, and suddenly... the monotone, gravelly voice, the penetrating stare, the cold heart— except Coral's fondness of the "asset..."

"Your sister. She's with the Capitol," I discover. Coral bites her lip. Apparently, I already know far too much. I've not only met and know the status of the man who I'm supposed to know nothing about, and I've also met this woman's sister.

"Gwen," she says, "Is the one who betrayed him to the Capitol."

"She was human," I say.

"I told her too much after I was changed. She disliked our kind and adored the Capitol. The asset— we called him Herb, as his codename, for personal reasons — was essential to our operation. He was experienced. We were preparing to spark the rebellion when he was captured," says Coral.

I don't exactly trust Jane's people. She is still Jane, and I am still Bella, and I don't think we'll ever be on the best of terms. Either way, I hate the Capitol and want the Games to end as soon as possible. At that moment, I resolve to be loyal to myself and my family. I'll help the Movement, but I won't be tied to them. I still need to act as though I work for them, though.

"So what do you want me to do?" I ask. Coral pauses.

"Win the Hunger Games. Find the asset. Start the revolution."

* * *

Odd place to stop, but yeah, that's it. I want to hear your opinions on "Coral," because she will be a bit of a major character (and a trouble maker) later on. Don't worry about Mary-Sues, though. I absolutely hate her.

Do consider leaving a review.

See you Wednesday, and may the odds be ever in your favor!

~Sun


	9. The Beginning

First of all, a **big **thank you to all of the reviewers. You all have no idea how much it means to me.

And... here we are! The chapter you've been waiting for. The last line of this one is, "Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 74th annual Hunger Games begin!"

I'm really excited, but I'm also worried. I only have three chapters written after this one, so I have to get writing. Really, really fast. Enjoy, everyone!

* * *

_The __**Beginning**_

* * *

I take a sip of the thick, Capitol-synthesized liquid, gagging after the delicacy of last night. Edward didn't notice that I had left. I'm thankful— it would be difficult to explain everything. For some reason I still feel like I have to be secretive around him. Coral mentioned that my mind was the only safe one, and he is no exception. Still, I can't help but feel that I'm already in breach of my contract. Family first, the Movement second.

Edward has been gazing at me all morning. Into my eyes, at my facial expressions, and, sometimes, straight into my heart. He's trying to read me. I must look like a foreign language to him. He hasn't said a word in several minutes. All of his concentration is centered on breaking into the safe that is my mind.

"Must you _really _drink that?" asks Effie, her unspoken "in front of me" still echoing over the dinner table. I turn to glare at her.

"Yes," I say. She sniffs.

"I was talking to Haymitch," she replies stiffly. Haymitch flinches, downing another glass of... something. He smugly glances and her direction and pours more of the spirit into his glass. I look back to Effie, harden my stare, and tilt my head slightly. Something about her comment has made me furious. I know she said it was at him, but it was at both of us. It was _designed _to set me off.

I feel a sharp pressure on my forehead, the kind of pain that makes me want to drop whatever is hurting. Like picking up the wrong end of a curling iron or touching a hot stove, I want it off of me. I bury my head in my hands, the burn changing into near agony. I feel Effie and Haymitch staring at me as a pained cry parts my lips and my fingers dig into my scalp, raveling and tangling my hair. How much fire can fill me before I die? I breathe heavily. The pain subsides as quickly as it came.

"Bella, I'm sorry," I hear Edward say. His voice sounds detached, like it's coming from somewhere else. I'm hurt? Shocked? Betrayed? I can't find the right words. "I was trying to break into your shield."

"Why does it hurt?" I gasp. He smiles sadly.

"That was Jane," he says. Hurt. Shocked. Betrayed. I thought I could trust her! "She's dead, don't worry." What? No she's not... "Remember in Volterra? When she tried to hurt you? Well, that attack... it followed you around until it found a hole in your shield. The one I made. I didn't think I could— is wasn't possible... it must be the modifications to the venom. They _have _made you slightly weaker. And the process wasn't natural... if you pushed away the shield on purpose, it wouldn't hurt like that. But I punched a hole in it." His words aren't really making sense.

"My shield?" I ask aloud. He looks crestfallen. He didn't mean to hurt me.

"I think... it's your gift. Mental powers don't work on you."

"But Al—"

"Their powers are physical. Mine's mental," he says. "I've been thinking about how we're supposed to reveal our gifts. And I think you're a shield. You're safe in your _mind." _

We both look back to Haymitch and Effie. "You think that's her gift?" he asks. Edward nods. "I think we should be sure. It doesn't sound very powerful..."

"In almost a century, she's the only person I've met whose mind I can't read."

"Huh. Have you read the minds of the other Tributes?"

"Yes. None of them are like her. She's powerful... and I think she could learn to project it."

"Project?" I ask. "Like, shield someone else? How would that work?"

"If Jane," he points to the corner of the room, "A vampire who can make people writhe in agony," he says to Haymitch and Effie, "Were standing right there and tried to hurt me, you could push the shield around me. And Effie and Haymitch, too. You could help all of us."

"But there won't be anyone like Jane in the Games. Right?"

Haymitch shrugs. "You never know. The enhanced serum gave every Tribute a power and the ability to control thirst. they all have something... like Glimmer. I heard a rumor that she can make herself irresistibly attractive with telepathy. It would be useful if you could help Edward... resist. And if someone did have a power like... Jenny—'"

"Jane," Edward corrects.

_"Jenny," _Haymitch insists, "You could save anyone you wanted. But like I said. We don't actually know what they can do until tomorrow morning—" Tomorrow morning. I'm a vampire and I'm _nauseous_ at the thought. "— but we can guess."

I nod. "Any guesses? Judging by the interviews."

"And my chats with the other mentors," Haymitch dryly adds. "Marvel is a tracker. When you're in the arena, try to stay on his good side. And that guy, Thresh? Supposedly he has really powerful... intuition. Not like the future. But he just knows things. Like if you said something behind his back or something. Melanie, the girl from 5, is probably the most intelligent being on the planet. She'll be a tough opponent," finishes Haymitch. "But that's just gossip."

"And... Cato?" Edward manages. Is he... _afraid _of Cato? The room is so silent that I can hear Haymitch swallow.

"He's... a fighter. It's just a rumor, but..."

"But what?" asks Edward.

"He's probably one of the most powerful in the Games," says Haymitch. Edward just nods. There probably isn't any way that his telepathy would help now. We were both hoping that only a few of the Tributes would have powers, but if someone did their job on the serum correctly, everyone will have something entertaining.

At five o'clock, we gather around the TV. Tonight they announce our scores. Our new abilities aren't open to the public, so the Game makers broadcast a grade for each Tribute. The number, with one being irredeemably low and twelve being unattainably high, represents our potential in the Games. Usually the number is based on our performance in training, but this year it's on the promise of our gifts. It gives the general audience a starting point for betting. Most of the gamblers like to have something to go from, even in the beginning. It's most important for the sponsors. They have reputations to uphold and don't want to bet on a loser.

They broadcast our scores at six, but the people in the Capitol find a need to talk constantly. I sit quietly with Edward, waiting for the time to pass. By five thirty, I'm shaking. I didn't know that I was so nervous. My breath is erratic. Is it possible for vampires to have panic attacks? I gasp at the air, but it won't seem to fill my lungs. It's like water after not drinking anything for too long; not the cool, pleasant sensation, but the feeling that hurts when you take too much at once. I can't stop my rasping breaths. I don't need the air, but right now it feels like it's the only thing connecting me to the world.

Edward's arm wraps around me, and I feel more anchored. I have something to prove to me that this isn't a nightmare that I can wake up from.

"Bella, Bella," he murmurs softly. The humans can't hear it, I'm sure. He doesn't say anything after that, he just slowly rubs his hand up and down my back, steadily, methodically, rhythmically. Almost like a heartbeat.

Five fifty-five. Five minutes. I tick the seconds by with my fingers drumming on my leg. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. Haymitch told the Gamemakers about my ability, but it isn't anything special. I won't have a good score. They may not have done training, but I'm sure they noticed my clumsiness as I stepped onto the chariot, as I boarded the train... but I'm not clumsy anymore. There really isn't a reason for me to feel weaker than everyone else. But I do. Six o'clock. It's time.

For the training scores, they show a picture of the Tribute. After a bit of drama from the announcers, they show the score that the Tribute earned in training, with one being the lowest and twelve being the highest. Marvel is first. He earns a nine. Glimmer is second, with a five. Next is Cato.

"Cato..." begins Caesar. "Is a very unique boy. A very unique boy. Believe me when I tell you that his powers will _awe _you. Can I say anything else?"

The other man frowns. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Well then, without further ado, allow me to present Cato Pharr, with a score of. . . _ten."_

No. He can't get a ten. How can you have a ten when you haven't even trained for it? You can in these Games.

Clove doesn't fare as well. She only earns a six. I sigh heavily. Then District 3. Sierra Hudson earns an six and her partner, Michael, earns a five. Leona a seven, Lucius an eight. Melanie earns another eight. I suppose I'm not completely hopeless when the boy from District 6 earns a four and the girl from District 7 earns a two. Thresh earns an eight, and little Rue takes a seven. Then us. Edward. I clench my jaw, afraid of what fate might bring. Afraid of what it might not bring.

"And Edward Cullen is a very experienced boy."

_"Man," _I hear him mutter. He's seventeen, physically, but it must be frustrating to be called a boy when you're a hundred and ten.

"He has earned himself," finishes Caesar, "A score of... _eight."_

Worse than Cato. Two points worse than Cato. My breathing speeds up. I look to Edward, but he's glued to the screen. He's just as anxious for me as I was for him. Eight. I don't know what I can do to protect him if the sponsors are intent on letting him die. I'm trembling slightly as Caesar moves on to me.

"Isi has a rather unique gift. _And _one that will be very useful in the Games," says Caesar.

"Yes, yes," chuckles the other man.

"As you know, she is our last Tribute of the night... so, give a warm round of applause for Miss Swan, and the rest of our Tributes!" the live studio audience erupts with cheers as Caesar Flickerman and the camera pans out. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it's an honor to announce Isabella Swan, with a score of," he pauses. My breathing quickens. _"Ten." _

Bright flashes from cameras. Caesar spreads his arms out wide. He laughs. He swivels to face both sides of the auditorium. "There you have it, Panem! Isabella Swan, the girl on _fire! _And all of our wonderful Tributes for this year! Happy 74th Hunger Games!" he shouts. The crowd shrieks. "And may the odds _be ever in your favor!" _He laughs. He spins around on his heel. He nods, makes a clicking noise, and points at the camera. "Thank you. And good night." He spins around again. He walks off stage.

The anthem plays. The camera cuts to various sections of the audience as they wave flags and banners with our names. They chant names. Quieter, but still audible, is the sound of the anthem. They chant my name. They chant Cato's name. The Capitol loves me. Panem loves the girl on fire. _Ten. Ten. Ten. Ten._

Effie shouts something with glee. She squeals. Edward gives me a hug. My knees straighten. I rise from the sofa. Haymitch puts his palms on either side of my neck. He pulls me into a hug. He lets me go. Cinna approaches me. He smiles at me. He tells me congratulations. Portia shoots me a grin. The Avox girl, Lavina, gives me a quick look. She doesn't want me to die. I'm glad.

Glad. It's the first feeling after they announced my score. My first thought. It bounces around inside my head but never reaches my mouth in time for me to say thank you to Haymitch and Effie and Cinna. It rolls down my throat and fills me, absorbed into every fiber of my body. It touches my fingertips and my toes. It's bringing me back to life.

Then shock. _Ten. Ten. Ten. Ten. _It isn't possible. It's not. The shock ripples through me, too. It's not a pleasant sensation, like the glad. It wants to topple me over. It hits me in the chest. I step backwards. It accumulates around my jaw, which falls open. The shock forces itself around my lips and amasses on my hand. To soothe the pain, my palm flies to cover my mouth. A _ten. _A _ten. Ten. Ten. Ten. _

Strategy. Logic is a strange sensation. Rather than ripple or gradually let itself be absorbed, fiber by fiber, it pulses through me like a heartbeat. Cato was also awarded a ten. He must have a powerful gift. Cato and I will be targets.I think Cato and Clove are together, judging by their behavior in the interviews. With Edward's permission, we should stay with Cato and Clove for as long as possible. If the two most wanted in the Games stay together, perhaps we can survive for longer.

With the advent of logic, my thoughts seem to become coherent again. Jane was right; I can survive this. The truth unravels before me. I have a future beyond these Games. And yet I see no resolution. Without Edward by my side, I know that I will be nothing. Vampires are like stone. We don't heal from those kinds of wounds. Immortality has its costs. I shiver, the hole in my chest again emerging. I feel it already.

The fabric I am made of is thin, especially near my heart. It's pulled so tight that it just might snap. The Games have a hold on one of my strings. They have but to tug a little and I'll unravel. I shiver.

The anthem finishes and the screen goes dark.

"Bella!" squeals Effie Trinket. "I'm so proud of you. I knew it. You're from District 12, and I just thought of something special. You know, if you press coal hard enough, it turns to pearls!"

Not true. Not that I'll tell her that. Edward smiles and congratulates her on being so clever. But I have my mind on tomorrow morning. How long do I have before I fall apart? I thought my panic would subside after they announced the scores. I was wrong.

"How long do we have until we leave tomorrow?" I ask. Haymitch glances down at his watch.

"About... eleven hours," he says.

A hush falls over us. Tomorrow at dawn they'll herd us into a hovercraft and send us out to the arena. The Games don't start until ten, but the trip will take quite awhile and the Capitol residents are late risers. I wouldn't be surprised if they party long into the night. Haymitch and Effie aren't coming with us to the arena. They'll be going to the Game headquarters to sign up our sponsors and work out strategy on the gifts. But Cinna and Portia will stay with us until the end.

But goodbyes must be said here. Effie takes Edward and I by the hand, flinching slightly at the temperature. Actual tears are welling in her eyes.

"Thank you, Edward, Isi. It's been amazing to sponsor you two. A privilege," she says. I nod to her. Edward strangles a half-chortle in his throat and disguises it as coughing. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if I finally get promoted to a decent District next year!" she exclaims. She presses a quick kiss to my cheek. Edward's "coughing" sounded more like a growl, and she stays away from him. She hurries out of the room. Haymitch clears his throat. We turn around to face him as he crosses his arms.

"Any last words of advice?" asks Edward. Haymitch considers this for a few fractions of a second.

"When the gong sounds, just run. Get outta there as fast as you can. You're not up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water. Well, blood in your case." He takes our hands in his. "And _stay together. _The sponsors aren't going to like it if you go your separate ways," he says. "Got it?"

"After that?" I ask. Haymitch sighs.

"Stay alive," he says. Last time he said that, on the train, he said it with a laugh. This time, it's so sober and somber that I want to cry. We nod. There isn't really anything else to say.

Portia moves to speak with Edward, and I take the opportunity to speak with Cinna. I'm shaking slightly. I'm terrified.

"Cinna," I say in what's almost a whisper. "Thank you." He smiles at me.

"Bella. You're going to be fine," he says. "You're going to be amazing." I swallow. "You're on fire. They're gonna love you."

"But what if they don't—"

_"Make them _love you. You've made sure they'll remember you in the arena. You're unforgettable. You know, I'll be honest. I wasn't so sure when I first met you. You were the clumsy little girl from District 12. And now... I've had a bad habit of underestimating you. Every obstacle you've faced, you've overcome. You're incredible. You've left behind Bella Swan and become Isabelle. Isabelle, the girl on fire," he says, tucking a lock of fallen hair behind my ear. I shiver. "You've done so much. And you could do so much more."

"I could do so much more," I echo. He nods and gives me a quick grin. I try not to let my dread show. This is his first year. I wonder how it will affect him when I die? If I die. With a score of ten, I actually have a chance. I don't want to live. Not without Edward. I can't face Panem alone. Never.

"I'm going back to my apartment to get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow, Bella." He exchanges a sad smile with Portia and leaves the room. No more Haymitch, no more Effie, no more Cinna. When Edward's stylist leaves, we'll be completely alone. And then we'll be able to fully embrace the likelihood of our impending deaths.

I know nothing about Portia. She is a blue haired, blue lipped woman who is dating Cinna. I don't know if she and Edward are friends, I don't know if she's nice or kind, and I don't know if she has the same rebellious spark. But now, as she pulls Edward into a brief hug, I decide that I will miss her, too. She has been silent for almost the entirety of our visit. But she has a comforting, friendly aura and a piercing, intelligent stare. I silently shake hands with her before she files out of the training center. Now, in the midst of utter silence, I've never felt more alone.

There is no spoken agreement about our returning to the roof. We don't travel at human speed as we fly up there. It's already agreed that we sit on the ledge. We don't speak. We don't sigh. We don't even breathe. I don't protest as he wraps his arm around me. He doesn't complain as I rest my head on his shoulder. I'm as still as a statue when the side hug becomes an embrace. He cradles me as I begin to sob. I resist the urge to let myself be buried in hopelessness. It occurs to me that Edward and I haven't said our final goodbyes, and nor do I plan to. It would be the same as typing _The End _on the last page of manuscript. I won't let go of Edward until I have to tomorrow morning. And, in my heart, I'll never let go.

He kisses me deeply, tenderly. He loves me, and I love him. He pulls me closer, closer, ever so close and we wait for time to pass around us.

Clouds roll in. Another storm? Strangely, they seem to part at the city's border. I hear a low hum and a dim glow. They've covered the Capitol in a forcefield. They wouldn't want their partying ruined by rain. It's too bright to be nightfall. Every building in the city shines like a torch in the night, towering high into the sky. They would scrape the clouds if it wasn't for the barrier of green light. I sigh, wishing I could sleep here. Wishing I could cry.

Dawn arrives too early. The sun hasn't risen above the horizon, but the cold gray light gleams onto us. I want to stay until I'm in direct light, but something leads me downstairs. I have half an hour. I take a shower and comb through my hair. I need my human minute. I brush my teeth that don't need to be cleaned and shave the stubble off of my legs that probably won't need to be cut again for another decade. Then I return to my bedroom.

I sit on my bed until Cinna comes to me. The sun hasn't yet risen. He gives me simple clothes to wear and guides me to the roof. My final preparations, I know, are to be done underneath the arena. A hovercraft appears out of nowhere. Edward emerges with Portia. As soon as I see him, I sprint to him and press a kiss to his lips. I squeeze my eyes shut and imagine that this moment will last forever.

It lasts for less time than my race to his side did, and I dart back to Cinna. He throws his arm over my shoulder like we're best friends. The real meaning is clear. _That wasn't protocol. It's an aberration in a perfect code. Careful, Bella. _I don't look back at Edward as a ladder falls from the hovercraft and I climb up.

I'm escorted into a room. It's almost identical to the snack car back on the Tribute train. I'm trembling. Even if I were still human, I would eat nothing. An Avox brings me a bottle of something. I recognize it as the very same as at the restaurant the night before last. I take it in my shaking hand and take a few sips. I may as well be drinking oil mixed with coal dust. It fails to drag me away from the harsh reality.

"Give me your arm," snaps a woman in a white coat.

"Why? What is it?" I ask. She takes a syringe and stabs it underneath my skin. I'm surprised that she has the strength before I realize that it wasn't her. The machine punctured my skin with what must be unimaginable force. The pain is sharp, but my curiosity distracts me.

"Your tracker," she answers. "We'll be able to locate you more easily in the arena."

I wince as she pulls it out.

The ride lasts for half an hour before the windows black out. We're in a holding pattern around what I assume is the arena. We land and Cinna and I return to the exit. We don't speak as we're lowered into the catacombs beneath the arena. Each Tribute had their own hovercraft and therefore their own Landing Room. Before we exit, Cinna whispers to me,

"Follow me. Don't speak. Don't ask questions. Try not to show emotion. This is being televised."

We leave the room and begin marching down a hallway. As we pass the first door, Edward and Portia exit and begin following us. We walk in perfect step. Edward and I because we're vampires and we can. Portia and Cinna because they've probably practiced this a thousand times. Rue and who I assume is her stylist steps out and begins following us a few doors later. Thresh is next. I understand. In flawless uniform we glide through the halls, Tribute by Tribute joining our crusading death march. We probably look like zombies with the placid, rock solid expressions on our faces. I keep my eyes on the back of Cinna's head, and Portia keeps hers on the back of mine.

After a short journey with all of us in sync, I notice the stylists beginning to change their walking pattern. The footfalls, so tightly choreographed, begin to sound like music. Suddenly Cinna steps to the left and slows down. I do the same as Edward and Portia begin to accelerate. I can't see, but I can smell. This happens with all of the other Tributes, too, one by one. Then Cinna makes a barely noticeable motion for me to go to his right. I do, and Edward steps to his left. The hallways are just wide enough for the four of us to walk side by side.

We come to an intersection in the hallways. Cinna and I take a left, Edward and Portia take a right. The rest of the Tributes continue walking. The footfalls continue, the low thrumming of war drums. Then Cinna and I, still side by side, find our destination. In the Capitol, it's called the Launch Room. In the Districts, we call it the Stockyard. The place animals go before slaughter.

Everything in here is new. I will be the first and only Tribute to use this Launch Room, just like I will be the only Tribute to use that slowly unfolding march formation. The arenas are historic sites, preserved after the Games. They're popular places for the Capitol residents to vacation. They go for a month, re-watch the Games, tour the catacombs, visit the sites where the deaths took place. They even can take part in reenactments.

They say the food is excellent.

I take another shower. Cinna braids my hair in my braids, the same ones I wore for the Reaping. I'm trembling. I gulp down the air like it's the only thing in my world.

"Remember what I told you last night," says Cinna. "You're going to be amazing. I believe in you, Bella."

I grit my teeth, trying to think of a response. _"Isabelle," _I reply. I've become more than just Bella. I have to be more. Bella is clumsy and weak. Isabelle burns with a bright flame, shining triumphantly. Even if I die, the embers never will. Bella broke down into irredeemable depression when her boyfriend left her. I am stronger than that now. I refuse to be extinguished. Cinna seems to read all of this in me. As he always does, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and gives a small chuckle.

"You know, I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could I'd bet on you." Then he says something very quiet. "The Games will change everyone. But don't let yourself become something you aren't."

I nod to him. Then the clothes are delivered. It doesn't matter what the weather or clothes are. I'm not going to die of exposure to the elements.

Cinna opens the package. He had no say in the outfit. He doesn't even know what will be in it. All we know is that it will be the same for every Tribute. Undergarments, a crimson shirt, black pants and jacket. The boots are comfortable and made of fur. Everything looks slightly dated, like it's from a fairytale. I dress quickly. When I think I'm done, Cinna pulls my mockingjay pin from his pocket. I had almost forgotten it. With my new eyes, I can see a small inscription in its golden surface. Human eyes would have, without a doubt, missed it. The script is tiny, written around the rim. It's an entire stanza of a poem. I spin it between my fingers so I can read it.

_The caged bird sings_

_with a fearful trill _

_of things unknown_

_but longed for still_

_and his tune is heard_

_on the distant hill_

_for the caged bird_

_sings of freedom._

I know a vampire must have written the words. No mortal could scribe something so small. A computer could not have made it either. It was too imperfect for a machine.

"Where did you get that?" I ask Cinna.

"Off the green outfit you wore on the train," he says. It's your District token, right?" I nod and he takes it from my hand to pin it to my shirt, hiding it just under my jacket. "It barely cleared the review board. Some thought the pin could be used as a weapon, giving you an unfair advantage. But eventually, they let it through." He pauses. "They eliminated a ring from the District 1 girl, though. If you twisted the gemstone, a spike popped out. Poisoned one. She claimed she had no knowledge the ring transformed and there was no way to prove she did. But she lost her token..." Cinna adjusts my jacket. "There, you're all set. Make sure everything feels comfortable."

I shuffle uncomfortably, but it's not the outfit. "Yes, it's fine," I say quickly. "Fits perfectly."

"Then there's nothing to do but wait for the call."

My nervousness morphs into pure terror. In less than an hour, I could be dead. My fingers trace patterns on my skin. My teeth chatter like I'm cold, even though that's impossible for an immortal. Still, I feel colder than I have in my entire life.

Lives.

Whatever.

"Do you want to talk, Isabelle?" Cinna asks. Isabelle. There's my new name again. Right now I want to be Bella. Bella is me. Isabelle, the brave girl on fire, is a stranger to me. I wouldn't recognize her.

I shake my head but hold out my hand to his. Cinna encloses it in both of his. We sit this way for a long time, him holding my hand still. I keep it in a fist so that I won't be tempted to squeeze his. I could break it. Then a female voice announces that it's time to prepare for launch. I walk over and stand on a circular metal plate enclosed by a glass tube. There's a doorway for people to enter, but in a moment it will shut. "Remember what Haymitch said. Run. Just get out of there, Isabelle." _Isabelle, Isabelle, Isabelle. _I have to be Isabelle. Bella would die in the Games. Isabelle has chance to live. "The rest will follow," he says. I nod. "And remember this. I believe in you. I believe you can win."

"Promise?" I whisper.

"Promise," Cinna says. I let go of his hand and turn around. The arena will be facing this way. Then the door snaps shut. I swivel around, petrified with terror. Cinna taps underneath his chin. Head high.

I lift my chin and stand as straight as I can. The metal plate begins to rise. For fifteen seconds, I'm in darkness. There is no light in here. Even I can't see. It's literally pitch black. The metal plate pushes me out of the glass tube. And then I'm in open air. This is the arena. I'm conscious of a strong wind, the flutter of snowfall, and the scent of pine trees.

Then I hear the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice booms throughout the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 74th annual Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

_Next Time, On Heart of Ice:_

It is more than likely that Edward is dead.

Cato probably hates me for having a score just as high as him, and he knows that hurting Edward is like slowly digging a knife underneath my flesh. He doesn't want me to die, and he doesn't want to rip out the part of my heart where he belongs too quickly. That wouldn't be painful enough. Everything about him seems to whisper, _"Let my knife under your flesh and into your heart."_ Cato wants to kill me softly.

* * *

I particularly love that paragraph, it's one of the more poetic things I've ever written. Believe me, it's all uphill from here. No more long conversations or boring descriptions of emotions. It's all action, plotting, strategy, and a whole lot of fun.

EDIT: I have decided **_not _**to update this Sunday because I need the weekend to get ahead. The non-uploaded part is now 64,000 words, so I'm not as far ahead as I'd like to be. I'm taking a quick break from uploading, both because I need to and because I think this is a good place to stop. I'll post again on Wednesday, February 5th. See you then!

~Sun


	10. The Games

_A/N: I've not edited this because I'm in a big hurry. There will be typos, but other than that I think it's some of my best. Enjoy! _

_Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor..._

* * *

_The __**Games**_

* * *

Sixty seconds. That's how long we're required to stand on our metal circles before the gong releases us. Step off before the minute is up, and land mines blow your legs off. Sixty seconds to take in the Tributes that ring equidistant from the Cornucopia, a giant horn made to resemble the ones we used to have at Thanksgiving. The mouth is at least fifteen feet high. Usually things that will give us life — weapons, food, water — are stored inside. This year though, there are only a few weapons, fire starters, and several small packets of blood— the synth-kind that tastes awful, but at least it's something. If I were brave enough to fight for all of it against the other twenty-three Tributes, which I've been instructed not to do, I could have enough for a few days.

This is a prairie, a snow-covered field. Behind me is a forest, filled with the promising scent of fresh pine and large game. I can't tell if it's cold or not, but the wind is bitter. It seems to be scattering smells, the way it whips, and I know I won't be able to tell if someone snuck up on me from behind. I glance back to the woods. This is where Haymitch would want me to go. Immediately. "Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between you and the others."

I begin to feel slightly drained. Almost the same way I did when Edward broke into my shield. It's more like a pressure on my forehead, and it isn't painful. I realize that the girl straight across from me, Melanie, is staring straight at me. By the glare that Edward gives her, she's some sort of telepath. She examines me from head to toe, like she's calculating my physical abilities. She glances to Edward to extract what weapon I might use to have gained me a score of ten. Her eyes, wild, not focusing for more than a few half-seconds, flash to the woods. She's afraid of me. Of course she is, she can't read my mind.

Then I see it. A silver bow with a sheath of a dozen arrows. It occurs to me that they would probably just bounce off, until I see the special stone tip. It's too smooth and extremely sharp, sharper than my teeth. It would be enough to pierce our skin. It couldn't kill us, but it would hurt. It might even slow us down. Then I find myself examining the other weapons. They all have the same tips. Of course they do, this is the Hunger Games. The audience would complain of boredom if we just beat and bit each other to death.

I want those arrows. I was pretty good at archery as a human, but I didn't have a steady grasp and my clumsiness would cause my hands to fumble. Now that I'm immortal. . . I'm sure my aim would be flawless. It's a long range weapon, unlike my teeth and my fists.

It's close to the Cornucopia and other weapons. I know I could sprint, I don't exactly tire. I'm not the fastest. But if there isn't much interest in the bow, maybe I could make it there first. The problem would be the escape. By the time I've reached it, others will be at the horn. I've never fought before, but I've seen Victoria and James torn apart. Either way, I don't know what it takes to destroy us. If it were one or two, I might be able to slow them down with an arrow to the knee, but a dozen? More?

But I wouldn't be the only target. I'm not so vain that I think that. I'm small, I'd be ignored. Most of the careers would aim for Thresh or one of the other fierce opponents. Maybe I could do it.

I hear the computerized voice, still counting, over the loud speakers. I've been ignoring it. _32, 31, 30. . ._

I'm a predator. It's not in my instincts to shy away from a fight. Some of the Tributes look genuinely bloodthirsty— whether from the Capitol's liquid horror or the thought of murdering the others I can't tell. 

_13, 12, 11. . ._

The computerized voice turns to steady drum beats. Ten seconds. I'm still staring at the pile of weapons. Haymitch has never seen me run. If he had, he would have insisted even more that I stay away from the initial bloodbath. But a weapon means the difference between life and death in these Games. The bow, the knives, even one of the granite clubs could eb my salvation. The minute is almost up, only a few seconds left, and I crouch in a position to run. They'll be expecting to use their powers, I can stop them. Then I notice Edward. He's looking directly at me and shaking his head. While I'm still pondering my options, the gong rings.

I've missed it! I've missed my chance! It's only a fraction of a second, but it's long enough to be a game changer for me. I launch myself off of the plate and start racing towards the woods. I'm unwilling to leave without anything. I reach for the nearest weapon, a small knife, and lunge for a couple of packets of the red. . . substance. The pickings are so small and I'm so furious with myself that I sprint for a rich crimson backpack, about twenty yards out, because I couldn't stand leaving without anything. I don't want to carry this bags of crimson goop and that knife forever.

Another boy, who I recognize from District 9, is already at the pack. We wrestle with it, although the fight is more verbal than physical. I think we're both unwilling to kill each other so early in the Games, but I could be wrong. This is taking too long. I pull out my knife and show it to him. He's unarmed, and he tries to run. Or that's what I think he's doing. He staggers forwards, then backwards, and then lowers himself to a crouch, grappling at his back. I see Clove, the District 2 girl, standing several yards behind him with a packet of knives. I examine it for a sixty-fourth of a second before I realize just how sharp it is. And how hard she's throwing. If it's sharp and fast enough to hurt one of us. . . I think I'm her next target.

I sling the pouch over my shoulder and prepare to run, taking a step back. The boy from District 4 lunges at the now fallen boy with one of the ultra-sharp swords and brings it down on his shoulder. Something about the material nearly cracks him in half. I fly away from there. The boy from 9 starts to scream. I swivel around as the District 4 boy twists the top of his sword. _Are you _kidding _me? _I think at the Gamemakers. It's also a flame thrower. I glance around. Flaming knives, flaming swords, fire, fire, _fire._

My predatory instincts are taking over. Hiding in plain sight may not be the best option here, but, if I'm right about this, everything here is a source of fire. The girl from District 1, Glimmer, already has my bows. The sane part of me knows that tackling her is suicide. The newborn part does not. I groan in exasperation. _Just get out of there, _Haymitch says in my head. I dart for the woods at my top speed.

I hear a girl— the telepath, Melanie— scream and I know that Glimmer and Marvel have found her. I almost pity her. I'm halfway to the trees already. I can't turn around to help a total stranger now. But I do anyways, because I hear a cry of frustration from someone who matters. It's Edward. He's in a fight with Cato. It looks like he was trying to run but was caught in the turmoil. I want to help. His eyes find mine and he shakes his head, mouthing the word "go." I gestured a firm "no." He widened his eyes and strangled a shout, the words already formed in his throat. I know what he wants me to do, but I won't. I won't. I won't. . .

"Go!" he finally shouts at me, and this time I don't dare to disobey. I see Clove with her pack of knives converging on me and I finally turn to run back towards the haven of the trees. Clove tosses one of her knives at me. I hear the whistle and my hand instinctively raises to catch it. I grab at it and get a tight grip on it.

Part of me wants to ponder it for hours, letting myself sink deep into utter despair, the weight of my abandoning him pushing so hard that it would impale my heart. But this is the Hunger Games, and I'm not about to submit to emotion. Inside I'm screaming that leaving him is a very bad idea, but I have an idea that they won't kill him anytime soon. Cato, from what I know of him, is too competitive for that.

It is more than likely that Edward is dead.

Cato probably hates me for having a score just as high as him, and he knows that hurting Edward is like slowly digging a knife underneath my flesh. He doesn't want me to die, and he doesn't want to rip out the part of my heart where he belongs too quickly. That wouldn't be painful enough. Everything about him seems to whisper, _"Let my knife under your flesh and into your heart."_ Cato wants to kill me softly.

I continue to hike along, refusing to break down into sobs. I didn't gather any of the sanguine fluid at the Cornucopia, and it will only be a day or two until the thirst overwhelms me. I think that might be the Capitol's plan. Most of us will be driven mad while the strongest will feast on the plasma. It isn't fair, but when have the Games ever been fair?

I refuse to slow down. At first I think that the arena must be immense, but it doesn't take long to realize that I'm not traveling at a vampire's speed. I remember the tracker they injected into me this morning and start to think that they've capped my velocity on purpose. They want the audience to _see _us, and that would be impossible if we moved at the speed of sound. Judging by the rate that the trees fly by me, though, I'm still moving at superhuman speed, far faster than an olympian racer.

I don't have the urge to kill humans, I can't move terribly quickly.

Am I really a vampire, or just another Mutation created by the Capitol?

I keep flying through the trees at full speed for the next few hours. I pause once or twice to check for signs of pursuit, but there's no one for miles around. The piney woods evolve into a forest of a multitude of trees, most of which are foreign to me. I keep my knife at the ready, but, despite what it did to the boy from 9, I doubt it would do much good if one of the Career Tributes showed themselves. At one point, I hear a noise. I freeze, but only a rabbit appears from the underbrush. It isn't much, but if Edward can settle for a bird, I can take the rabbit. I'll be grateful for it later. I snatch it off the ground. It struggles for only a moment before it goes limp. I felt guilt back in the woods of District 12. But not now. I take hope in the fact that there are animals out here. If there's one, there could be a hundred more.

The slope steepens. Far ahead, I see a mountain, shrouded by a lush veil of evergreens. The wind is brutal, and, though it doesn't slow down my pace, it limits my sight to less than human eyes. Snow falls in sheets around me. Everything is so _white. _White ground, white trees, white sky, immortally-white self. Ebony hair framing my vision. And red. Red _bloodlust, _marred only by self-preservation, contrasting so vividly against the ashen landscape_. _

The illusion of solitude rejuvenates me. I'm tired of being constantly viewed by people from all over the Capitol. I'm still on-screen right now, or at least off and on. At least they're swathed by canopied cameras. At home I'm only showed at random intervals, enough for them to see than I'm alive. A lone Tribute on a trek through the woods isn't much compared to the deaths of today. But, in the Capitol, you can subscribe to your favorite Tribute's television station. If someone really likes me, they could watch me whenever they wanted to. One of the heaviest days of betting is the opening, when initial casualties come in, so the wealthy keep their eyes on those with promise. I know by the faint ghost of a tingle on the back of my neck that someone is watching me. Always.

It's mid-afternoon when they fire the cannons. The tradition stems from the twenty-one gun salute at military funerals. But this isn't out of respect. Each shot represents a fallen Tribute. The fighting must have come to a halt at the Cornucopia. They collect the bodies and fire the cannons after the killers have dispersed. I pause to listen. Edward's face flashes through my head once. I push it away and don't think of it again. One. . . two. . . three. . . like war drums or the stiff procession of a funeral march, they abhorrently continue until they reach six. Then silence. Six dead. Eighteen left to play.

Stopping to listen for the cannons has drawn my attention back to my thirst. Perhaps the rabbit wasn't such a good idea. It quenched the burning at the time, but my newborn mind aches for more _real _blood. Perhaps the flavor at 732 E. Avenue was better, but there's something more satisfying about hunting something yourself.

I _need _something to distract myself. Hunting turns your brain off, and, in the Games, that's something that should best be kept on full power. I kneel down next to my pack, breathing deeply to scent any enemies. It's far too red, a color that will be a rich contrast against the white. I'm beginning to sense a pattern here.

I flip open the flap. In vein I hope for a few packs of blood in it, but I know I would have scented it by now. I find a box of wooden matches, wooden stakes that make me snort— probably a trick for the less supernaturally educated— and a half-gallon plastic bottle for carrying liquid that's bone dry. It wouldn't be much use, unless there was a stream of blood. That's an encouraging thought, but I still have a feeling that the intent here is to drive us mad. I remember the rabbit before I can panic, but I'm not terribly happy at the thought of another _herbivore. _

I've been moving all day long. Twilight is closing in. And my throat is burning like the Sahara Desert. It's worse than it has been for the entire week. If the whatever-they-gave-me took away some of my superhuman speed, maybe they've also stolen my lack of newborn thirst. At the thought my mouth flares, venom pooling excessively in my mouth. I swallow. The poison burns on its way down, a sting that makes me beg for something to drink, to relieve the pain. I'm swallowing razors.

I'm paranoid by the time night falls. I spin in obsessive circles as I walk. I'm certain that someone is stalking me. Or even worse: something. Perhaps the Capitol made a sort of Mutt, something we couldn't smell, with claws sharp enough to tear through our iron skin. Something. . . like werewolves. Stronger, faster, stupider, permanently canine wolves. I know there wouldn't be any reasoning with them if they were Capitol bred. It would be no Jacob, there would be no warning, and there would be no mercy.

Crap. Somehow I _know _I'm right the moment it occurs to me. I detect a hint of a scent, just behind me. And then another one, directly in front of me. I try to reason with myself. How could wolves burn me if they aren't even sentient? I hear a howl and jump. I'm at a slow, human pace, afraid for my life. Breaking into a run would only stimulate them to attack.

Okay. I _know _they aren't werewolves. As far as I know, the Treaty still stands. And what werewolf in his right mind would let themselves be thrown into the Games? So these are real wolves. Immensely large, enormous, wolves with razor sharp claws and teeth.

So what do I know about wolves? I've already established with myself that wolves would attack me if I tried to run. Eye contact or showing my teeth would be taking as a sign of aggression. Their noses are sensitive areas. And wolves are afraid, deathly afraid, of fire.

But those are real ones, not the Capitol synthesized Mutts. I hoist my pack over my head, trying to make myself look as big as possible. I hear a snarl from behind me and I swivel around.

I'm face to face with the Alpha wolf.

* * *

_Yes. Cliffhanger. Get used to it now that we're in the games. _

_Regardless, I hope you enjoyed! I'll edit and repost later. I'll see you guys Wednesday!_

_~Sun_


	11. The Pack

AN: Happy Sunday everyone! I got up at 4:30 this morning, so... please excuse any mistakes I might have made during the editing process, I'm not all here. Blah, blah, blah, does anyone actually care?

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Chapter 11: The_**Pack**_

* * *

Adieu, logic. It was nice knowing you.

My muscles coil and spring to run as the Alpha attempts to pounce on me. _Thrum, thrum, thrum. _I hear its heart beating at a steady pace, like the drums of war. Like the cannons that fire when a Tribute dies. Like the cannon that _will _fire if I can't get out of here fast enough.

I've no time to think of where I'm going, only where I'm leaving. I glance behind me at the wolf. A growl rips through its barred teeth as it lunges for one of my legs. Screaming isn't a choice, it's a fact. I yank that foot ahead and jump as high and far as I can. There haven't been any cannons since the ones earlier. I'm on TV.

I push myself faster. Faster. Faster. The wolves are on my heels. I can't outrun them. I can only hope to fight them off. I swivel around and kick the Alpha wolf into a tree. It whines. I hear the tree creak. The other ones snarl and bark at me. I back away slowly, careful not to make eye contact. Now that I see them face to face, I can see their size and calculate how long it would take them to claw their way through me. Their teeth would bite through me like butter. I lower myself to a crouch. The Alpha, still on the ground, gives one last whine before going still. The wolves howl.

I'm supposed to run, and I know why. The Gamemakers don't want to kill me, not so early in the Games, they want to redirect me. If we were human they might give us a break. But we're not human and we don't get tired. They can keep us going indefinitely in this edge-of-your-seat action.

One leaps at me. I remember what Jasper said about fighting newborns. And I remember what one of them did to Jacob. This is the obvious kill, and he's right. I _am _expecting that. It feels wrong, copying something that hurt someone I love. But these are Mutts. I wrap my arms around the wolf, feel my way to its ribs, and squeeze. I hear a _snap _and drop the animal. _Mutt. _It's not an animal. It was either grown in a lab or it's a computer generated image.

I knock another wolf into a tree. This time the tree falls over. But the next wolf is a fighter. It knocks me onto my back and its claws dig into my stone flesh. I scream, overwhelmed with pain, as another one lands on my back. It rips my pack to pieces, the contents spilling onto the forest floor. I can feel the heat as it moves its teeth towards my neck. The talons are ripping me to shreds. But I do know one way to cause this wolf pain. I turn my mouth towards its oversized, oversensitive ear and shout at the top of my lungs. This distracts it for a fraction of a second, and it's long enough for me to tackle the wolf. My teeth crush its windpipe. The pitiful whimper doesn't trigger guilt, not after what it's done to me.

I've scared them for now, and I bolt. One comes at me from the side and I knock it away. For now. I see it coming at me again. Everything _hurts_ where their claws scraped me. I finger the wounds on my arms to find a thick gel embedded in them. The claws are poison, and they sting. Panicked and taking a lot of unnecessary breaths, I kick forwards and leap another ten or twenty yards. But the wolves do, too.

One lunges at me from the side. Not good, not good. And _not _a good idea. I block it with my forearm and fling it away. It flies through the air and lands on its feet and rushes at me again. I'm far enough away to look behind me. Their numbers are overwhelming. There are thirteen more. _Thirteen. _I groan and push them away again. Another one seems to appear out of nowhere. So this arena _is _holographic. Somewhere, in a cool and spotless room, a Gamemaker sits at a set of controls that could end my life— my _existence _in the blink of an eye.

I don't have a plan. I'm zigzagging through the forest without rhyme or reason, letting every sense I have plunge even more into overdrive. But I'm not about to give up. I wait for the burn in my muscles but it never comes. I can keep going forever. So can the wolves... but I also know that certain areas of certain arenas are built for specific attacks. If I can get away from this section, the wolves might stop chasing me. Yes, they're nothing more than deadly holograms, but the projectors for them have to end somewhere. I might be able to move out of their reach. I also might fall into a pit of lava, but I can't worry about that right now.

It isn't long before I can scent Cato and the rest of the Careers. The Gamemakers are leading me into an ambush. The good news is that the wolves seem to be slowing down, but the bad news is that I'm in no condition to fight. The liquid in my arms and back stings like acid, and I don't think I have enough sense to fight anyways. I decide that I'd rather face the frying pan than the fire.

The wolves aren't exactly happy about this. They make feral snarls at me. One of them reaches its paw over an invisible barrier, and whatever part of it crosses disappears, glowing faintly blue at the end. This is the end of their domain. They can't cross. But I can't fight off the Careers. _Tick tock tick tock. _With every passing second the audience grows bored and the Gamemaker will find a way to generate a new horror.

I rush at the Mutts again and burst through their thin line of defense. For a moment they seem confused, but then they're chasing me. I don't bother to run. I only leap across the terrain. By using strength instead of speed, I fly much faster.

Their claws lick my skin, but never as badly as the first time. I try to push them away. The Gamemakers must be tired of generating new wolves. They're stronger than before. I couldn't even hold a candle to them. One of the Mutts topples a tree in an attempt to get me, and I scream again as one snaps at my arm. I jerk it away and strike it on the nose. Strong as it is, it can feel pain (or at least it's programmed to act like it). I hear the crunch of the bone in its snout and it whimpers. Encouraged by this, I stop trying to move them off of me and instead break their bones. But as soon as I stop one, another leaps forward to take its place.

A wolf sinks its teeth into my neck. I scream, both out of agony and fury, and sense leaves me. I spin around, trying to remove myself from the horror, and finally manage to rip it _off _of me. I feel the crack in my neck. It's not enough for it to leave me alone. The other wolves are standing back, snarling, as I lower myself to a crouch with a hiss. I pounce on the wolf and pound my fists and feet into it, waiting for the animal's body to go limp. Its claws rip into my arms and stomach as it flounders to get off of its back. It's making me _hurt. _It want it to feel _pain. _

Another Mutt leaps onto me, scratching into my back and trying to tear me off. I couldn't care less as the talons lacerate into my skin. I give a punctual _shrug, _a shockwave from it rippling from my shoulders all the way down to my hip, knocking the animal _off._ I keep my knees firmly planted on either side of the wolf's ribcage. Irate, I squeeze. It howls in pain, but the vampire in me isn't satisfied. I press my own nails into its fur until the gray hair reddens with blood. With a grunt, I wrap my fingers around its neck and squeeze. When it still struggles, I let go with one hand and knock it in the nose. Then I wrap my entire arm around its windpipe and yank on its scruff. I hear it give a high pitched cry before it goes still and silent. I'm still crouching on the carcass when I feel another Mutt leap on me.

The panic has morphed to bloodlust, and not an ounce of pity or fear is left in me. I want these _things _to suffer. I tackle another one, this time only pounding its ribs once before regaining a bit of sense and taking off again. I've enraged what's left of this pack, and I need to get away from here as fast as possible. They'll leave me alone when they can't find me.

Soon I'm nearing the foot of a mountain. It quickly steepens until I'm sure that a human could never climb it. Somehow the sharpened claws keep them anchored to the ground as I scramble upwards.

On and on, up and up. The wolves follow, but I don't dare turn around to count the number left. I just crawl forwards and upwards. I turn my brain off as the will to survive takes over. It's too late now to choose anything. Another wolf lunges at me and I spring forwards. When I sense one coming, I act or die.

The incline plateaus. Just a couple hundred feet ahead of me, boulders border a cliff face. I know I might be able to make it to the wolves clearly couldn't. On the other hand, if I slip, I'll fall straight to the pack. I pause for only a brief second, weighing my options, before I sprint forwards and clamber up the rocks. The wolves are far behind me now, but they gain ground on the flat. I drive my fingers into the rock face and claw my way upwards.

I knock some chunks of rock down and onto the Mutts. I hear whines of pain and the sound of cracking bone. I hear growls from the other wolves and pause for a moment, my grip tight on the rocks, to look downwards. There are nine of them, all enormous, barking up the cliff like hounds that have treed a raccoon.

* * *

I don't have any reason to keep moving, but for some reason I want to summit this mountain. It stretches up and on and on, but it doesn't flatten at the peak. I may be in the Hunger Games, but I still want to see the view from up there. Maybe it would be useful. I could see any oncoming competition. At the very least, it's just close enough to the clouds for me to be able to reach up and touch them.

For a human, the hike might take a few days. At most for me, it's a ten minute climb. And that's while I'm taking my time. The pines are filled with birds, and many areas are populated by wolves— gray wolves, the real, non-deadly kind. After the snow stops and the wind dies down, I inhale deeply. There aren't any vampires or Mutts in the area.

I break into a run through the jade and white forest, determined to reach the peak. For some reason the clarity of it strikes me more than it has over the past week. I was blind when I was human, and evidently I was blind before now. It's so _beautiful, _the little flecks of snow, now melting, that dot the trees, and the warmth that coats the entire mountain despite the long departed sun. Odd, unnatural flowers are in blossom, although they are covered in frost.

The wind whips my braid out behind me, and, surprised that it's lasted this long, I tear the rubber band from my hair. It feels so much more natural, unburdened, this way. I kick off the simple boots and laugh out loud when I realize that the rough forest floor feels the same as the velvet and satin carpetings back in the Capitol. As I move into deeper parts of the forest, places where I can't help but touch some of the branches, the thorns may as well be caressing feathers. I wish I could move faster; that it hadn't been the Capitol giving me this life for the sake of their Games. I wonder if the whatever-they-gave-me hurt Edward's speed, too. He wasn't created for the sake of entertainment.

I quickly discover that, even if they've taken away my speed, they can't do anything about my strength. I push myself along, melting through the woods of the mountain in whichever direction occurs to me first. I'm moving more quickly than I thought possible. I wonder briefly if I'm moving in circles.

The bounds continue, floating more upwards with each stride, my soles brushing against the ground so infrequently that I believe I've found the way to fly. I feel weightless. Vampires are called demons in the tales of old, but now, as I glance behind at the darkling expanse of the sky, I know that I'm an angel. I love the night, it gives way to constellations and galaxies, a heavenly tapestry that so easily becomes a part of me. My wings aren't feathered or veiled in white; my wings are made of stars.

The summit is in sight now, but I'm more inclined to hunt. I stop to listen for a few brief moments, not tuning anything out like I did back in the city. I can hear a spider spinning its web, a snowflake hitting the ground miles away, leaves scraping each other, birds preening their feathers, and a waterfall off in the distance, spilling off the side of the mountain. And I hear the familiar thrumming of a large heartbeat. I can smell the earth, the evergreens and other plants in this living world, the nutty aroma of small rodents cowering under tree roots, and the unappealing scent of water. But the other something, with the heartbeat, laps up water from the brook. It's gamey, rich, and tangy, and far stronger than others. Not exactly appealing, but better than a rabbit. I listen for the padding of its feet and lock in on its heartbeat. I lower myself to a crouch, still afraid that there will be competition. I fly toward it.

"It" turns out to be a mountain lion, on a part of the craggy mountain about ten feet below me. He's large, easily twice as big as the wolves. His eyes are intent. He's a hunter, too, stalking the doe that laps at a small pond. He stands on the edge a precipice of the mountain— an overhang— with the open and grassy field twenty feet below.

With a light bound, I make a dive for him. He hears the sudden whistling in the air and whirls to shriek and defend himself. I land in a crouch and, noting the distinctively feline qualities of my gait, saunter towards him. He claws their air between us, hissing. I hiss at him and my hand involuntarily does the same. My hiss turns to a snarl, and the cat's eyes glow with fury. Half-crazed with thirst, I forget the fangs and claws and launch myself at him, knocking us both off of the precipice and over the doe's pond.

The fact that some of his blood is leaking into the grass only infuriates me, and it goes more quickly. It isn't much of a fight. His claws did nothing to my skin, and his teeth have no impact on my shoulder or throat. Until he finds the place where the wolves bit me. I cry out in brief pain and my teeth seek his throat, both in anger and thirst.

It's effortless, really. Softer than a buttered marshmallow. The flavor is, quite simply, wrong, but it's better than a rabbit. My parched throat is quenched. I swallow, dreading the moment when he runs dry. The cat's struggles become even more feeble, and his screams are cut off with a gurgle and one last sigh.

The doe escapes unharmed.

No, I'm no angel, I realize as I inspect the remainder of my blood-soaked dress.

The thirst is tamed, if not completely erased. I'm glad. It was starting to become more than just an annoying itch. But the pain in my neck, back, shoulders, arms, stomach... the stings that cover the majority of my body aren't dying as I hoped they would. I have no idea what to do for them. I have a feeling that, unless there's a really good fight on right now, I'm on TV. Which means that my family is watching me. Jasper would probably know what to do for this. I remember all of his scars and decide that he's dealt with venom before. Of course, this thick liquid is Capitol synthesized, so it's different. But how different?

I try to step into his shoes from a thousand miles away. What would he say to do for these? I try to be practical and scrub the liquid out of my scrapes. It has started to harden in some areas, and it stings as I rip it out. I can't even reach some of the ones on my back. But where I free the milky gel the cracks immediately begin to heal. The sensation is indescribable. It's neither pleasure nor pain, but it makes me sigh in relief, my eyes closing slowly.

The night is dark and it's unfamiliar. Not this time of day, of course, but being able to see it so clearly. In the Capitol it was too bright to test my night-vision. Because I have no reason to stop for the night, I decide to continue to the summit of the mountain. It takes a single leap to get to the first ledge and a quick climb to the second. I stare upwards towards the top, which is still in sight.

I hike upwards, careful to avoid handholds that could slip. At times I have to drive my hands straight into the rocks, but other times it's an easy glide to the peak. Sometimes I think I've made it. I realize that I haven't only when I see something that goes up. But I travel at a human pace, enjoying the solitude. I don't know what I'm going to do when I get to the top. There won't be anything to do except wait.

I know it when I'm finally at the summit. It isn't the top of a mountain where you're afraid to fall off because it's so small and so close to the edge. Near the top, it began to become less steep. Although there is a very small and definite peak that I now stand on, the area surrounding it is wide. I comfortably stand about ten feet from a ledge, which drops about five feet before it continues down steadily.

But the view is stunning. With my new eyes, I can see until the spherical earth curls out of my sight. The snow no longer falls, but it still covers the landscape. The forest to the south is immense, and the mountain range to the north is even more so. This isn't even the highest peak. Stars stretch overhead gloriously, without a single artificial light to mar their beauty. My blind human eyes could have seen thousands of stars. My sighted vampire ones can see entire galaxies and planets and nebulas. It was no wonder that the people of the ancient world saw gods and goddesses and heroes an demons and kings and queens in the heavens. The allure of the stars is irresistible. I inhale deeply— not to scent prey, but to fully take in the beauty of the earth and sky.

That's when I finally see the seal of Panem projected on the sky. It appears to be floating, but it's really just a screen, an enormous one on the bottom of a hovercraft. The anthem fades out and the sky is completely dark, the stars covered by the ship. At home we would be watching recaps of every killing, but that would give an unfair advantage to the living Tributes. For instance, if a Tribute were an expert archer and shot someone, all of the others would know how they had done it. All we see are simple head shots— the same ones from when they broadcast our scores. Instead of scores, though, they post District numbers. I take a deep breath.

The first to appear are the girl and boy from District 6, which means that the Tributes from 1, 2, 3, and 4 survived. That's normal. Usually they all make it through the first day. Or so I've heard. The girl and boy from 7 are gone. And the boy from District 9. One more Tribute. Part of me panics, and I wonder if it's Edward. No, it's the girl from District 10. The Capitol seal is back with one last musical flourish. Then the disturbingly present silence after the cheerful noise.

I wonder what I would have done if Edward had died. I'm not as weak as I was last time he left; I would have kept fighting until the end. Probably. Maybe. But, more than that, I imagine my own face flashing in the sky. Edward wouldn't have let himself live much longer, I know that to be a fact. I don't think he would harm himself— he would be the laughingstock of the Capitol for the next century— but he might just give up and let the Careers kill him.

I remember who's left. Cato, Clove, Glimmer, Marvel, the Tributes from 4, Melanie and her District partner, both Tributes from District 8, the girl from District, the boy from 10, Rue, Thresh, Edward. Me.

I'm relieved for a moment. Without anything else to do, I sit down on a rock to wait until morning. I don't like the dark. I can see in it, but not as well as I would like to. I relax as much as I can and completely zone out, my thoughts wandering. I give myself permission to let myself go for a few hours...

_Snap! _It's a faint but sharp noise. How long have I been sitting here? Is it morning yet? _Snap! _It's far away, at the bottom of the mountain, but it's not the sound of a twig under someone's foot. _Snap! Snap! _It's the sound of branches being torn from a tree. I slowly glide to the edge of the precipice and gaze down at the ground. _Snap!.. Pop!_

Someone's starting a fire. It's too far down, too dark, and too foggy to see who, but I can see the leaping of flames. At first I think it's some complete and utter idiot. Anyone with a brain can realize that we don't exactly need warmth. We're flammable. Unless this person is suicidal, they shouldn't be building a fire. You might as well wave a giant flag that says, "Come and get get me!" Except then I hear laughter from multiple voices. Cautiously, I approach the edge and look down. I see seven figures, but I can't tell who they are through the smoke, fog, distance, and darkness. But it doesn't take long for me to realize that it must be the Careers.

I hear begging and pleading, followed by an agonized female scream. The high pitch makes me cringe. Then I hear embers being fed. It's impossible to miss the sharp but sweet smell of a burning vampire that follows. Then I hear more laughter and another round of applause.

"Seven down and sixteen to go!" shouts the girl from District 4, who I remember as Leona. But they called her "Leo" in her interview.

This earns some appreciative cheers from the others. The others. Great.

So, another "pack"for me to fight off. Wonderful. I'm not surprised. I've been forced to watch Hunger Games reruns and this happens often— the strong band together and pick off the weak. When the tension becomes too much, they turn on each other. But I wasn't expecting five vampires to band together, especially while we're all newborn. That's almost... it's a _coven, _and that frightens me. Covens are supposed to be lasting things, not something thrown together in the heat of battle for the purpose of convenience. Right?

The sound of a cannon breaks the trance. I hear Cato and the rest give themselves a round of applause. It makes me furious, the way they're celebrating the end of a life. I know that the camera is directly on my face right now, so I keep my expression stoic and hope that I don't loose any sympathy from the Capitol. I may hate them, but they need to love me. It isn't that I need gifts, it's that I don't want _them _to get gifts.

"So where to next?" asks someone cheerfully. Marvel, I'm guessing.

"Hmm, I don't know, Marv," says Glimmer. "Cato?"

Cato shrugs, and I see Marvel peer up to where I am. I _know _he can't see me— the peak is shaped in just the right way— but I still feel completely frozen in place, like nothing but a statue overlooking the land.

"How about up to the top of the mountain?" Marvel suggests. "We can get a better look at the place."

"I'll go first to make sure there's no ambush," Lucius, the boy from 4, promises.

Cato laughs. "We're the ones who would _make _an ambush, _Lucy."_ Lucius grumbles at his feminine nickname. There is silence for a few seconds.

"I told you not to call me that."

"Hey, Lue!" Cato pats him on the back, but this fails to perk him up. "Seriously, Lucy, you should _stop _taking things so... seriously!"

"There's no need to antagonize him, Cato," says a voice.

I nearly fall off of the cliff. The voice belongs to Edward.

* * *

Review?


	12. New Ground

I am very proud of this chapter. It has some of my better writing in it. It really showcases my ability, I think.

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_New __**Ground**_

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Betrayal, that's what I feel. Which is ridiculous, because he hasn't betrayed me, and, unless everything I've known for almost two years is a lie, he isn't going to. But the shock still covers my face and forces its way down my throat, forming a rock in my stomach. I want my fury to escalate, but the stone weighs it down. I'm also a little disappointed. My anger is grounded. I realize too late that I must be on camera. I try to disguise my emotions, hoping that no one will think me weak.

Cato laughs at Edward. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he says, though it doesn't sound very sincere. I hear what sounds like a slap, and I know Cato gives Edward a pat on the back.

"Come on, Cato," I hear Clove say. Her voice doesn't sound cold and calculated like she did in her interview, and I suddenly know that I'm hearing something from the real Clove and not her evil counterpart. "Let's head back to the woods. I caught scent of some wolves earlier. . ."

_No. No. NO! _Don't _go after the wolves! _I think at them furiously.

"I've seen some pretty big wolves in my time— the kind that can kill us, too," says Edward. "And this is the Hunger Games. I don't think we should risk it."

"Well, what you have us do?" she asks.

_"I _am still in favor of climbing the mountain," Glimmer volunteers. Everyone seems to ignore her.

"Um..." says Lucius. "Climbing the mountain would give us a better view of the place. We could see the denser tree areas. We could probably tell where the Tributes are hiding!" he pauses, then chuckles, "We have built in telescopes for a reason, you know." Everyone exchanges a tense laugh. But not as tense as me.

"Maybe Luc_" _— Lucius grows — "Alright, _Luke _is right. We could get a better view. Which is always a good idea. And I can't smell anything up there. Maybe someone's hiding," Cato says reluctantly, like he doesn't want to accept someone else's advice. "Uh, isn't that a good idea?" He has his hands out in what could be a friendly position, but palms up in front of him to indicate that he wants you to "pay up."

"Uh, yeah!" Marvel, who thought up the idea in the first place, says quickly with fake enthusiasm. "Great idea, Cato!"

Cato looks smug.

Then, as they begin ascending the mountain, I realize that I have to get out of here. I look around for a few moments. Behind me is a nearly straight drop to the other side of the mountain. Another mountain peak is a couple hundred yards from here. Or maybe that's the same mountain? Either way, it's lower than this one. I don't feel like taking the low ground, so I back up to the very edge and run at it full speed. When I get to the other side, I push at it with every bit of force I have. I know that they'll be here in less than five minutes. They won't take their sweet time, and they certainly won't stop to hunt.

I fly through the air. I don't land fully on the plateaued peak, instead I slam into the side of the cliff with my fingers keeping me hanging. I tighten the grip and pull myself up, swinging my leg. I glance behind me. I can't see Cato and the others yet. I roll my eyes at myself. Of course I can't. But I do hear Cato shout,

"Did you guys hear that?"

_"Sounds-like some-one's up_-_there,"_ Glimmer half-sings, popping the _p _on "up." Cato chuckles.

"Come on!" he whoops enthusiastically. Then I hear quickened footsteps.

I have to run. I can't stay here, either. I don't want to take the low ground. I can't see it from here, and that scares me. What isn't too far away is tree covered. I've no idea what horrors lurk down there. I look for another mountain to fly to. There's one close by. I can't jump straight to the summit— it's higher than this one— but I can get to a lower point. It's one of the higher ones in the range, taller than the first one. It takes me a few seconds to calculate my flight. I back up all the way to the ledge of this rocky plateau and leap into the oblivion of midair.

I land face down in the soil, my head against a now cracking shrub. I look up and nearly scream. I'm nose to nose with a squirrel holding an acorn. Wide-eyed, it stares at me and makes a clicking sound. It glances down at the nut in its hands. _No, I don't want your nuts, _I think at it. It can't read my thoughts, of course, so it hisses and pulls the acorn to its chest. I roll my eyes. If I wanted the acorn, which I don't, I would take it, the squirrel's claws and hisses be darned. If I wanted the squirrel's blood, which I don't, I would take it, the claws and hisses be darned. The only reason this annoying animal isn't dead right now is because I'm thinking of Ice Age.

_"Squirrels," _I mutter.

This mount is craggier than the last one I climbed; it will be a little harder to make it to the top. I look down and see a ravine. If I jump into it, will the distance and water disguise my scent? No, of course it wouldn't. I have to get up to the top. There isn't really a direct path— it's too steep— so it looks like I have to run up in slowly ascending circles to get to the top.

In the utter panic, it only takes me about thirty seconds. I still hear the others whooping and laughing from the others. I doubt Edward has realized that he's tracking me. But he will. Soon. Will he be able to hold them off? Will he go after me? He's an experienced fighter. And he's fast. Unless the Capitol's... something has affected him, too. I realize that my breathing is quickening and I'm still standing still.

My eyes scan for another peak. I find one, the peak smaller than the others, just barely big enough to comfortably stand on. I throw myself into the air. I've never felt more free. The cry of exhilaration is involuntary as the wind rushes past me. I land in a crouch, one knee in between my arms and supporting my bowed head and the other planted in the ground. I look up from the snow and into the wind, my locks flowing freely behind me.

It feels like something from a fairytale, an unearthly creature of great beauty and strength flying from mountain to mountain in the midst of this snowy night. I almost feel the camera locking onto me. _Let them see, _I think, _Let them see how powerful I am. _I feel the corners of my lips flinch upwards. I smile.

"There she is!" I hear someone shout. I barely turn around to see the six figures standing on the mountaintop. Their words are faint, but somehow I hear them. Maybe it's the fact that they're speaking in my direction.

"How did she get there so fast?" asks Glimmer, very softly, as if she only intends for Marvel to hear it. I see his silhouette shrug and there is a brief moment of silence.

"She jumped," Clove speculates, much louder. I hear her leap into the air and land on my first mountain. "See? It's easy, really!" she shouts unnecessarily.

I stand on the precipice and scan for a new location. This mountain range doesn't go on forever. I can only do this for so long. I take flight one last time and land on a plateau of a much lower mount. I can't find anywhere else from here. My best bet would be to risk the low ground. I dart to the edge of the cliff and prepare to jump. I gaze below. Trees, trees, trees, and a beautiful, crystal clear stream. The Capitol is being ridiculous. On one side of the mountain range there's a snow covered forest. On this side it's a rainforest. No, that's not the right word. It's an alien one, and it feels odd on my tongue. _Jungle._

Jungles can be dangerous. I imagine the killer monkeys, snakes with fangs strong enough to break through our skin, giant gorillas, pits of vipers... I can only imagine the traps the rainforest must be rigged with, the ancient temples it simulates, and the awful dangers and mysteries waiting to be unsolved. Oh, dear Capitol, if you want excitement then you have really outdone yourself this time.

Cato comes to the edge of the ledge. The rest of them stand behind him. They see me preparing to jump and they know I will. I'm glaring at Edward right now. I can see him perfectly, even from this far away, so I know he can see my scowl. He swallows and looks apologetic. Apologetic! He's just led these people here to kill me and he expects a simply "I'm sorry" to fix that? I've been running all day and worrying that the Careers killed him.

And now he's gone and allied with them. Granted, it was probably join or die. And Edward chose not to die. Like any other being with a sense of self-preservation. But I'm not about to go over to the Careers and let them rip me to pieces just because Edward's now a friend of that _stupid _Cato. Without knowing what else to do, I take a few steps backwards. That's all it takes to send me hurtling into the jungle.

The trees are taller than I had expected. I fall straight through what I thought to be the ground and plunge further into the dark. I'm momentarily caught in a branch in the canopy, my ankle wedged between an upwards pointed branch and the trunk. My momentum carries me and I swing backwards, suspended only by my foot. I try to bend my knee to sit upright, but the small motion of toe-wiggling sends me flying, well, _falling _to the forest floor. I groan, more out of frustration than pain.

I landed in a soft patch of leaves— the smooth, tropical kind— so it isn't like I'm worried about making an impact crater. I brush myself off and briefly glimpse my surroundings. It's a web of green. Everything here is living. Insects gather on the ground, animals swing from trees, water drips of plants and waters the plants beneath my toes. The place is lush, verdant. An alien world where one thing sustains another, and no one needs anything. Birds of a thousand colors. Flowers bursting into bloom. It's beautiful. Monkeys, sloths, things I can't identify. And pairs of yellow eyes in the dark— dozens, hundreds of them— glare back at me.

I feel the danger instantly. For the first time since I was changed, I'm cold. Shivering. I stay as still as a statue. Anything could set them of. I glide forward slowly, soundlessly. Careful not to disturb them. I breathe slowly as I move forwards into a darker part of the forest. The creatures' eyes follow me, and there are still more, peering out of hiding places. Some of the eyes dare to venture towards me. Stay calm, stay calm. I know they can sense my fear, now. I tell myself that it's nothing. They're just animals. I hear the beating of their hearts, smell the scent of their blood. But that's what scares me. The thrum of their pulse is hard and loud. They're predators. The smell of their blood is nauseating. My senses know that I'm supposed to avoid them.

_Thrum, thrum, thrum. _The largest one yet. I hear the padding of its paws as it marches in my direction. It reeks almost like smoke— a warning on the horizon that something foul is afoot. Fetid, putrid. Like the smell of charring flesh and rotten eggs, potent and sharper than the acrid stench of sewage and garbage. I clench my teeth. That _thing _is not natural. It's a Capitol bred Mutt. And I have absolutely no idea what it is or what it's going to do to me. So I hold still and wait.

The acrid scent becomes stronger and I know they're gathering. _Thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum. Thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum. _Like war drums. The nausea becomes very real, my stomach

Something hits the ground with a thud behind me. I gasp and spin around. The rest of the Careers, Edward included, land next to Cato. That's enough to send the Mutts into a panic. They're as ugly as their scent would have me believe. Foot long talons, gray fur standing straight up, covered in spikes, razor sharp teeth, and coiled muscles that must be harder than granite. These things are made to kill vampires. I think I'm going to die.

The beasts pile onto the Careers. They leap from trees, from bushes. The swarm covers them and knocks them to the ground. One latches onto my leg as I sprint. Another one leaps at me from the side. I try I jerk my knee but it's no use. I reach down and drive my fist into the animal. My fingernails. I squeeze it as I go until it finally goes limp and I pluck it away. It burns like flesh held to flame, like boiling acid on my calf. I plunge further into the jungle.

Screeching, they hiss and growl at me as I plunge through the forest.

I zig zag, I duck up and down, I run through thorns, which tears my clothes to shreds. Something heavy lands on my back with a feral screech and tries to dig into my neck, into my chest, into my skull. It's heavy, it's so heavy, I'm not strong enough to fight all of them! I kill one, then another, then another, throwing them into trees, flinging them into the ground, stomping on them with all of my force, but another one leaps in to take its place. Hundreds, thousands of them, all screaming and throwing themselves onto me. They rip at my hair, tear at my flesh... screeching, they hiss and growl at me as I plunge through the jungle. But I'm not exhausted and I never will be. I'm beginning to think I can do this indefinitely.

And then one bites my wrist.

Hot, hot. Much too hot. Pain. Singeing. Smoldering. Charing. Searing. Scorching. Burning. Exploding. Erupting. Fire! My arm is on fire! My legs pull to a halt and my other arm beats at the source of agony, of torment, trying to quench the flames. The torment, the pain. I squeeze my wrist, tear the furry beast off of me. I slap the flesh, the flames are still there. The fire. Why isn't my arm torn to pieces?! Why hasn't the explosion destroyed it?! Why does it still hurt?!

It only increases, it only hurts more and more, like picking up the wrong end of a curing iron, like holding the sun itself. But I can't drop it. So I scream, listening to the sound of other cries of agony, letting the sound rip out of my mouth, hoping that releasing it will make the pain stop. But it doesn't stop, the anguish, the torture, the tribulation. I can't handle it. I can't handle it! My arm is being sawed off of my body, being hit by a bus, submerged in lava. It's bewildering.

I can't make sense of it, I can't make sense of what's happening. The sea of fire raging inside my arm is peaking beyond what I knew to be possible. I shouldn't be screaming, I should be dead. Kill me, kill me, please. Make it stop scalding me! I want to claw the arm off of my body, anything to make it go away. I would kill for morphling, I would slaughter the Capitol for that drug. I would stand in fire for it. Because I am being dunked in acid.

I come to enough sense to realize that the pain is spreading. A lick on my neck as it crawls up my spin, scalding every inch of my back.. I feel the razors digging into me and the liquid fire plunging into my skin and suddenly I know where the pain is coming from. I knock the animals off of my limbs and I remember that I'm supposed to be running. But I don't know why and I don't know which way I came from. Through the haze of fire and the red tinging my vision, I stumble, unsure of where to go.

It's impossible to think clearly. Thoughts come in streams and floods, pouring into my head like a torrent. But my body reacts without my brain when it comes to pain. Instinct is enough to get away. The pain doesn't lessen, but the will to survive takes over. I'm not really running through the forest anymore. I'm stumbling away from the animals. Their assault isn't ebbing, either. They're programmed to attack until I'm dead, not weakened. Can I die from this? Or will they just drive me to madness?

I hear a screaming sound again, and for a moment I think it's coming from me. But as I listen, not daring to stop, I hear that it's from behind. It takes longer than it should to identify the bell-like voice. It's Glimmer. I realize that the Careers are under attack, too. Glimmer's cry for help becomes little more than a feral shriek, a bloodcurdling sound of utter agony before she goes silent.

I'm nauseated, and I want to vomit. I double over from the pain, but I'm not human and blood isn't about to spatter from my mouth. My stomach twists from the pain and the putrid smells. The pain hasn't lessened, either. It accelerates through my body. The agony digs underneath my skin, burning me to the core.

I'm not really running— my legs are shaky and weak—but falling through the trees. Down, down, down, into a valley. One leaps at me from the side, another from above. With a panicked gasp, I tear them off of me. More come at me from the back, from below, the dozens of them at my feet try to cling to my legs. I stomp on the ones underfoot, I throw them into trees, I wrap my hands around their oily necks and squeeze. I don't hesitate to kill. I survive.

The incline downwards steepens and another Mutt bites me, followed by another. Razors rip apart every cell in my body. Vipers nip at my stomach from the odor. Fangs dig into my neck and I feel the venom dripping down my back. Is it real acid? Is it actually burning me?! It feels like someone has kicked me in the back and I fall forwards, trip over a rock, and tumble down. Mutts follow me. Chunks of hair are torn off and I feel myself becoming weaker. I stand again, vainly try to brush them off, and keep running.

But it continues, on and on and on, still in the darkness. The animals are swifter than I and I know I won't be able to outrun them. This, like the wolves, can't go on forever. I'm knocked to the ground and struggle to find the will to return to my feet. Why should I fight? I twist around. A new creature, a new twist on the same game.

Oily, greasy, like a giant black dog, made strange by its triangular head, bathed in oil and coated in a thin, soapy membrane. It has severe jaw underbite, its lower fangs raising upward and then pointing away from the creature itself, as if to stab someone. Repulsive. _This is why I should fight. _

I reach my hands around its neck and push myself onto it. The small beasts land on my back. The strange creature writhes and tries to stab me with its teeth. I twist the neck and it finally goes limp, a liquid of a poisonous red color seething from its mouth. That's when I realize that it must be venomous, too.

I tear off through the trees, hoping to somehow numb the pain. I saw a river somewhere, didn't I? When the burn peaks and escalates beyond what I know how to handle, I fear for my life. Perhaps it is burning me. Maybe it's already killed me and now I've gone to Hell.

A dog lunges at me. I narrowly miss its poisoned teeth. The smaller animals are still flying at me from every direction. I swat one into the dog. Ha. Two birds with one stone. The giant dog howls in pain and collapses. I run as fast as I can as the creatures leap and fly at me. I dispatch them without second thought. Kill or be killed. That's it.

Dodging trees, dodging animals. Narrowly averting certain death. This is my existence as I fly at top speed through the forest. Pain still shoots through me, the scalding haze threatening to render me senseless. Again. I think I'm starting to make progress when I see the same trees that I was running by a few minutes ago. The animals are trying to turn me around. Drive me back towards the remaining Careers. They want us, as broken as we are, to fight each other. I should try my best to circle around. There should be a river, a relief from the burn and hopefully from the animals.

I see that the animals have retreated somewhat, but I sense that this isn't over yet. The Gamemakers are giving us a brief break before something even more horrible hits us. I pause to sniff the air and listen for the sound of water, but stillness makes the agony return. It sears through my entire body, shaking me with a wave of fire more intense than I thought possible. My stomach churns and flips in impossible ways, my bones are surely cracking. This volley of searing, screaming pain makes me feel detached, like it's squeezed me out of my skull and now I'm hovering over my body, watching as she contorts from the sheer shock and anguish of the inferno. She doubles over in pain and nearly falls to the ground. My sobbing gasps are involuntary.

I try to move forwards, but it's like I'm using a puppet. My quivering limbs don't respond immediately. The strings only move my legs, anything not commanded is limp and dead. I start to run again. I try bounding rather than running, my feet rarely touching the ground. I start to think I'm halfway out of the dark.

I rush forwards at top speed.

And then something stabs me through the stomach. I cry out, the sobs sounding more like strangled whimpers. The fangs of the dog go almost straight through me. My hand comes down on the beast's skull and crushes it. I tear out the tusks, but it's too late. The thick, cherry red liquid is already seeping out of the wounds. I know without thinking that a human would already be dead. The holes don't begin to heal as I know they should. I'm immediately woozy, and the pain is impossible. Beyond impossible. I don't scream or yell or cry in my defeat. There's no point.

The agony increases to far beyond what I've come to know. But something keeps me staggering, now wobbling uncontrollably, forward, knowing how hopeless I am, as the attack comes to a close. I hear the sounds of struggle and pain from the Careers, and I know that the fight over there is far from over. But I don't think the Gamemakers are done with me yet. They've given me torment beyond anything I could imagine but they've also spared my life. Why? Why did they spare my life? I don't want it anymore. It isn't worth it.

I find strength in me somewhere. I stagger back into the midst of the attack, now listening for the trickle of a brook and, further off, the roar of a river in the distance. The animals try to attack me. Despite the pain, I fight them off. They start disintegrating into ash in my hands. At first I'm not sure what's wrong, but I slowly realize that I'm hallucinating. Could some of this pain be imagined, too? I discover how far gone I am when a bird turns into winged fire and lands on me. I don't die, so I assume that it's nothing and move on, still struggling from the searing that now throbs through my entire body, enveloping me into an impossible form of torment. I didn't know that it was even possible for a vampire to have these sort of dreams. Then again, the Capitol can do anything it wants. If they want me to be trapped in an illusion, I will be.

The sounds of the fight from the Careers have become less loud. Either there's no one left, they've scattered, or this attack is over. I run at top speed, which isn't much, towards the water, hoping for some relief from the agony. It slowly increases, again, until I feel like I'm completely submerged in acid. Another fiery bird flies at me. This one balloons to the size of a house and then shrinks as it lands on me, wrapping its talons around my shoulder and beginning to peck at me.

I laugh, though I don't know why. "Silly bird," I coo at it before another wave of fire strikes me with the force of a wrecking ball, hitting me exactly where I was stabbed and knocking the wind out of my chest. It continues through me, like I'm being slowly sawed in half. I'm hovering over myself again, only this time it feels frighteningly real, like I really am disembodied. I watch myself crumple, my body convulse and my face contort in agony, but I don't feel it. It's like reading a book or watching a movie. It isn't me.

She screams and gives a blood-curling shriek that pierces my soul. The sound of anguish, of hopelessness. She writhes in agony, her fingers fruitlessly clutch at the air, as though she is trying to find a loving hand to grasp. The world around her begins to glow. My vision becomes brighter and brighter until I can see no more than just a silhouette of the suffering girl, who, in this fragile state, looks suspiciously like a child. She screams again and doubles over. Her hair pools around her, and she starts to lift up, like someone surfacing from the water.

Then my vision goes completely white and I open my eyes to find that I am the one resurfacing from the black pool of agony, then submerged again, forced to endure something that I know I cannot.

The birds are still gathering overhead as I move through the forest. Though I can't feel anything but pain, I somehow stay at vampire speed, melting through the jungle as nothing but a blur. It must be the promise of water. The birds liquify and turn to blood while the trees are reduced to ashes. Before the blood can reach me it becomes blackened dust. It lands on me, magically materializing into more birds. I wonder where the fire is as I dart through the forest. With horror, I realize that I'm the one burning, that all of this pain is coming from me. That's the only explanation for this feeling on my legs. I start swatting my legs, trying to extinguish the fire.

I look down and I'm swathed in a silken crimson dress, flames licking at the skirt. How odd. Parts of the dress seem to be made of fire. It's so beautiful that I gasp, the pain somehow becoming irrelevant. The gown is absolutely radiant, perfect in every way, fitting my form and yet somehow staying modest. If being on fire is the cost of wearing this, it's worth it. I smile, wondering how silly I look to the cameras. I wonder what the audience thinks of my dress. I glance up and see a mirror. I stop to look at it. The alien in the mirror couldn't be me. She's stunning, absolutely perfect. Her face and makeup and hair... oh, the Capitol must love me. I only stop to admire her for a moment before I continue running, the silk of my dress and my brown tresses flying out behind me. I grin and laugh. How wonderful. Absolutely perfect.

I finally reach the river, though the trees don't end. In the distance I see a replica of a temple. I glance down to the water to see a reflection of the world. But something's wrong with it. I'm not wearing a gown. I have a moment of realization, and that's all it takes for the pain to return, worse than ever before. I look up and see black spots in my vision. I feel birds clawing at me, an entire flock trying to kill me. The world bulges in unreal, unnatural ways. I have no dress, my hair is in tangles, my real clothes are tattered. I'm a mess.

Another wave of pain brings me to my knees. The flock of birds has sent me to the ground. I'm shaking like a leaf, my muscles quaking like never before. For a moment I writhe in it, fully giving in. Now, as a vampire, an all-powerful creature of the night, I realize that I have never been weaker. I sob into the ground, the searing in my stomach crawling its way up my throat, the flames licking my face, my mouth. I cry out for help, and the resulting choking sound causes a shiver from head to toe. The shudder creates tendrils of pain, fire warping itself into a cage around my spine and making movement impossible. I would scream if I could. Instead I only gasp for air.

I choke it down, swallow it. Perhaps it can stop the fire. Every time I gag it in, the flames within force me to heave it up again. I don't know how long this lasts, the sobbing sound of a dying child.

I thought the fact that vampires don't need air would be a good thing, but it isn't. Humans can reach out to the air that they're surrounded by when they need strength. But no matter how many times I choke down a breath, I don't feel any better. I start to realize that the sobbing isn't going to do anything to help me. Every movement causes agony. I force my convulsing muscles to stay still, I impel my burning lungs to stop. And I lie there, waiting for the pain to leave me. It doesn't.

With a groan and a grunt of determination, I reach out my good arm, the one part of me untouched by animals, and claw my way towards the water, dragging myself along. It's like pulling a carcass. As soon as I resolved to stop, my body locked. My muscles are stiff, and I know I couldn't use them if I tried. Somehow my lungs are working again, and before long the uncontrollable sobs are back. The water is still so far away.

Somehow I manage to reach it, immersing myself in the liquid. I plunge deep into the cold water, the searing of the fire leaving me. It relieves the pain instantly. I can feel it leaving my body and flowing away in the current, as if it was a tangible thing. Perhaps it was. Agony turns to pain, pain turns to discomfort, and even the discomfort leaves me alone. I exhale a final breath and let myself settle on the riverbed. I don't need the air... I could stay here. I'm happy, finally. If the poison is still going to kill me, I don't care. This isn't a bad place to die.

I open my eyes. The water flows above me, clear as crystal. Fist swim by. I lie in sand, waiting for my wounds to close. That won't take long, will it? I realize that only the pain from the poison is gone. The cracks themselves still ache, throbbing slightly at the edges. I push every last bit of oxygen from my lungs, watching the bubbles as they float up to the surface. I'm happy here. I really am. But then I gasp, not caring that inhaling water isn't exactly the best thing for me.

Edward. Oh, no.

I shoot upright, my quaking limbs strong again. I feel powerful, although quite fragile. I clamber out of the water. "Edward!" I call, shouting for him at the top of my lungs. I don't hear a response. "Edward!" I shout again, starting back into the forest. The _thrum _of the animals' beating hearts is gone. We're alone.

The pain is gone but the hallucinations are as powerful as ever. As I plunge back into the trees, the world spins around me, turning upside-down and sideways and right-side-up again. Trees melt, fire burns, the sky turns red and blood pours like rain, soaking my silk dress. It happens all too quickly, but then I'm human again, my stomach wounds bleeding like they should, coating the dress in the red liquid. I'm terrified as the world bulges. I scent things that can't exist. Every sense I have is betraying me. Nothing is real. I follow my own path. What other path is there?

I have to find him. I have to find Edward. He'll be maimed by the animals. He was in the heart of it. I have to bring him to the water. I can't let him suffer. I can't let him stay with the Careers. I have to save him. I have to save him. I have to save him. _What if the fire can kill? _

The world starts to turn odd colors. The criminals who assaulted me in Seattle offer me a ride on their motorcycle.

_"You look thirsty, Sweetheart," _says Haymitch behind me. _"Can I get you a drink?"_ I spin around to hiss at him. When I turn back around, everyone in the Capitol stands before me. They clap and I realize that I'm on stage. This is the Victor ceremony, I realize with dismay.

_"Congratulations, Isabelle Swan! Happy Hunger Games!" _Caesar Flickerman shouts, grabbing my hand. I tell him he isn't real and run back int the woods. But some part of me still feels like I'm in front of the audience, applauding me. They chant my name. They throw black roses that bleed when they hit me. I feel almost triumphant, but still lost. And all too alone.

"Where's Edward?!" I demand. They laugh and clap some more.

_"May I present to you Isabelle Swan! The sole Victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games!" _he calls. Oh no. No, this can't be happening.

But it isn't, and for that I'm glad. I drag myself away from the vision. I won't let that happen. I'll never let that happen, that's why I'm going after him. But my guilt rises. I've killed him, I know it. I abandoned him to the Mutts. What if it's too late? What if he's been burned and he's gone? I know it could happen. I still see Caesar, smiling at me. And Cinna grins at me with adoration and pride. Haymitch is sober, for once. He's... happy. Effie Trinket just grins as she puts her hands together and raises them above her head. This could happen. I know it could. And that's why it's so horrible.

Dreams are only illusions. They can't hurt you. But what about a nightmare on the verge of becoming reality?

_"Edward!" _I shout as loudly as I can, my voice warping until it sounds almost like laughter. It's coming from the Capitol. Effie Trinket sniffs at me. Is the Capitol real? Have I won the Hunger Games? Am I only in denial about Edward being dead? Caesar Flickerman returns me to my seat and begins interviewing me.

And yet, at the same time, I am running through the forest. Is the jungle a mere flashback in my mind, a vision brought on by post-traumatic stress? Or is the interview all in my head? The forest is warped, butterflies become airplanes and a tree becomes a palace. A mockingjay freezes into solid ice, cracking from glowing flame inside. A frozen emblem, long buried underneath political murder and legislative massacre, is being resurrected and reborn as the fire of a revolution. _Every revolution begins with a spark._

I stumble through the forest, pain returning. I feel myself weakening. My vision is going dark. The hallucinations are solidifying, becoming real. I'm having a hard time remembering that none of this is real. I don't know true and false anymore, and guilt is overcoming me. Dawn is breaking but this is my twilight

I finally find Edward, lying in the grass. His shirt and jacket have been completely torn apart by the animals. He lies unconscious on the ground, still flinching at the unseen. Cato has managed to escape to somewhere. Glimmer and Leona are in pieces, already smoldering. I was right about the substance being capable of burning us. Clove, Marvel, and Lucius are gone. But they're none of my concern. I have to stop my vision from becoming reality.

Or is it reality? I carry Edward, completely limp, through the forest as I tell Caesar that I am not the only Victor, and I _will _prove it. How strange it is to be in two places at once. Caesar narrows his eyes at me.

_"Now Bella," he says. "I've already explained this to you. He's gone. He's dead." The Capitol is laughing at me and I bolt upright._

In the jungle, I shake Edward awake. He's apparently conscious, just lost in hallucinations beyond coherence. I beg him to stay with me. I've seen what these poisons can do. If he looses will he'll start to burn. I need to get him back to the water. I have to, and soon.

_Back on stage, I sit back down. "I'm sorry, Caesar. It's just so hard to be alone in this." I burry my face in my hands and he rubs my back with a smile, trying to narrate. He makes a joke and everyone laughs. I find myself chuckling, too. Maybe life without him won't be so hard. I can handle myself, I'm older now. Edward is dead. And I'm... accepting it. It's time for me to move on. _

But in the forest I'm nearing the river. Edward is getting harder to carry, and the number of unreal possibilities multiply. Blood, snow... the jungle becomes everything I know it cannot be. This can't be real. The Capitol must be. This isn't real, I know it isn't...

_I tell Caesar about what's happening in my head and explain how ridiculous it is, how I'm just in denial that the Games are actually over. The Capitol agrees that it's ridiculous. I tell them that I think the Games will go on like this for the rest of my life and they cheer. I say that their Games are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I've learned to stand on my own._

But I'm not on my own! I'm _not _on my own! I stumble forwards, the river finally in sight. I hear Edward coughing and trying to speak. I shush him with a finger to my lips and tell him that it's ok, that we'll be safe soon. The river keeps approaching. He moves his feet and tries to be a little more than dead weight. I'm grateful.

_I conduct a long conversation with Caesar, and then President Snow comes down and places a lone crown on my head. He tells me congratulations. Then I'm brought in a limo to the President's mansion. Apparently I'm human again, because the delicacies lining the room are the most decadent and flavorful I've ever had. People, wealthy sponsors, take their pictures with me. I don't need Edward. Right now? I feel... needed. I feel _loved_._ _I don't _want_ this to end._

I growl at my vision. Defiantly, I step onto the bank of the river and help Edward lower himself into the water. With a cry of pain he stands on his own and falls underneath the current, his fingers still laced in mine. The hallucinations taking over, I slip beneath the liquid, every ounce of pain fading, my mind wandering. I settle on the riverbed, gazing up at me longingly. Before the endless sea of dreams fills my mind, I stare at the sunlight playing on the surface above and feel the dazzling light on my own face. My eyelids droop, illusions filling my mind. A drop of sunlight drapes out from behind a cloud. Before it can disappear, I shut my eyes, pretending I'll carry the drop of sun with me as I plunge into darkness.

* * *

**So, what did you think? Too long? Too angsty? Too uncomfortable? I originally tried to spit this up, but I kind of like it this way.**

Sorry for not updating Wednesday. I'm really sorry about this, but I don't think I'll be able to update twice a week anymore. This thing... something... happened... and now I'm a bit depressed. My writing becomes an allegory for my life when I get in this mood. The story gets worse and worse and worse and finally collapses in a heap of wangst whenever I try to write in my current state. I don't want this to happen to this fanfic, so I'll just take it slow. I am NOT taking a break. I am taking it slow.

See you soon?

~Sun~


	13. The Waking

Not my best, not my worst. But hey, I've gotten over my writers' block. Enjoy?

* * *

_The __**Waking**_

* * *

The dreams haunt me. I'm not asleep by any means. I'm just in agony, immobilized, and trapped in a world of endless illusions. How many times do I feel myself ripped apart? Do I witness Edward's death? Am I burned and broken? It seems to be endless. All the while, I'm in absolute agony from the burning. As soon as one horror ends and I think I'm finally awake, I'm returned to the worlds of nightmares. I try desperately to wake up. Finally, I'm screaming, crying out desperately, hoping that someone will hear me. Hoping that someone will care. Hoping that someone will drag me out of this endless oblivion.

When I finally awaken, I'm still lying next to Edward. I open my eyes to the water and blink. Cautiously, I run my hand over my wrist, my legs, my neck, my stomach. I don't feel any pain. After what feels like an eternity of utter agony, relief feels like a sea of bliss. I haul myself onto the land, and it feels like being born again. My muscles don't quake, not like they used to. I test my legs by trying to stand. When I don't fall over in pain, I start to believe that I might be awake. I haven't been trampled by anything, I haven't been burned, no one has died. I might be awake.

I'm gasping for air, although I don't know why. I know I don't need air, but the choking sounds are still coming from my chest. I catch the scent of the water, I inhale the musty smell of dust. The promising aroma of prey is on the horizon, and the horrific odor of the beasts is all but gone. For some reason, the act of breathing makes me feel alive again. It convinces me that the pain is gone, it's gone, it's gone.

Thinking about the burning in my body makes me wince and quiver again. Suddenly I'm shaking too hard to stand. I'm so relieved and so traumatized. I don't think I can stand. I'm alone, and every gust of wind makes me jump. I don't know how to _not _be terrified of the sounds I hear. Even the coming of the sun, just now peaking above the mountains, makes me so afraid. So I just sit there, doubled over and sobbing, gulping down air as fast as I can, and then just rocking: back and forth, back and forth. The steady rhythm feels like a heartbeat. It's a constant, something that I can control. It won't change, it won't turn on me, it won't cause me pain. It convinces me that I'm safe, slowly but surely.

_Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth. _Good and safe. Finally I stop rocking and holding my head in my hands. I just breathe, just stay still. _In, out, in, out, in out. _The rhythm is steady, and it steadies me.

Once I'm convinced that the pain is gone, I find Edward, still trapped in the illusions, under the water. The red, oozing liquid is gone, but some of the tears in his skin are left behind. I think it's safe, so I pull him onto the shore and beg him to wake up. It's been a long time since I've spoken, a long time since I've moved, and the words feel strange on my tongue.

The sun crawls in the sky. Another day, gone in just a few hours. Just like that. I haven't done anything today, just recovered from trauma that shouldn't have hurt me like it did. I was just in pain. Agony. Being boiled in acid. It wasn't a big deal. But it feels like one. I don't trust the world to be real. _In, out, in, out, in, out. _I stare at the sky, at the sun, my new eyes less hurt by the light. I clutch one of Edward's hands and watch the day fade away from me.

I can't bring myself to hunt. In most of my nightmares, Edward died some sort of painful death. I can't let that happen to him, not after the illusions of what could come to pass. I shudder at the memories and start to shake at the thought of pain. Is that what it feels like to become a vampire? Without the morphling to keep you euphoric? Is that what it feels like for Jane to burn you with her mind? I just sit still, telling myself that everything will be alright when Edward wakes up.

I finally begin to relax when I hear the snap of a twig behind me. I inhale. Someone's behind me. My hunter's senses spring into action. I whirl around and spot the tip of a small boot behind a tree. I sigh. It must be the littlest Tribute, Rue. She didn't make much of an impression on me, but I always felt sorry for her. If she were to make it out of this alive, she would be twelve for the rest of her life. That can't be legal. I know of the immortal children. It _shouldn't _be legal. But she's proven that she can control herself— more than once— so I guess it wouldn't matter to the Volturi, if they were still in power.

_But they _are _still in power, _says a little voice at the back of my head.

"Rue?" I call out. For a moment, there's no response. "I won't hurt you, I promise." How could I? How could anyone? She's so small, so innocent looking.

She edges around the trunk. "You want me for an ally?" she asks.

I shrug.

"Why not? Neither of us has a chance of winning, not compared to the rest, and I'm not going to hurt you. And you've obviously been watching for awhile. I didn't even notice you." Never mind the fact that someone could have snapped my neck and I wouldn't have raised a finger.

"Well," she says, tentatively slipping out in the out into the open. "I know what's wrong with him. I can make him wake up."

"Can you?" I almost beg. "How?"

She digs into the pack she carries and pulls out a handful of leaves. I'm doubtful that those can help. "Those animals?" she starts.

I nod.

"We have them back in District 11." They let _those _wander around a District?! "The Capitol made them back during the Dark Days and never bothered to get rid of them. But they aren't as strong or fast as the ones here. Their venom works the same way, though."

"How do you know?" I ask slowly, though I think I know the answer.

"One of them bit me, too. It wasn't the first time, either. But these leaves, well, we use them on stings. It didn't work as well as it would have if I was human, but it made the hallucinations and pain stop." She shudders.

"Did you see what happened to Cato?" I demand, then realize that I was too forceful. "And... the other Careers."

"They got away, but they're probably still dreaming. Not for long, though."

"How long have I been out? How many nights did I miss?" I ask.

"Three. It's been three days," she says. "The girl from District 1 and the boy and girl from District 4 are dead. The girl and boy from 3. The girl from 9... oh, and the boy from 5." She pauses. "We should help Edward," she finishes.

Without much hesitation, she crumples a leaf in the brook. "Normally I would chew it," Rue says. "But the venom makes it worse. I tried it." I nod.

She wads it up and hands it to me. I press the little clump into the wound in Edward's shoulder. He makes his first movement of the day. He sighs. She does the same with the other leaves, and I press it into the injuries. There are just too many, it starts to seem. _Why didn't I help him? _I wonder. Back in the forest. He wouldn't have been as badly hurt if I had helped. But, eventually, I've put the substance in all of the wounds and I'm wondering why he isn't awake.

"He'll be awake in a few minutes," says Rue. I don't know how to respond, really. This is a complete stranger who has helped me so much.

_"Thank _you, Rue," I reply, not really knowing how else to respond. There's silence for a few moments, and I start to wonder if our alliance is going to be filled with nothing but awkwardness.

"So..." she begins. "Did you get anything back at the Cornucopia?" she questions.

"A backpack," I say. "But I lost it back in the forest. Did you get anything?"

"Just this box." It's a small, wooden thing that she has hidden in her jacket. Barely big enough to fit an apple. But it's special, too. There's a metal plate on the front. A little engraved sign I recognize as the treble clef. "I like music," she says with a smile.

I half-laugh. "So do I." My lullaby starts to play in my head. I think that might have been the moment when I realized just how in love with Edward I was. That simple melody eventually doomed me to Panem. _I like music too much._

"We have mockingjays, back in District 11. Do you have them in your District?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say stupidly, and I feel like I have to say more. "Sometimes Edward would sing. He would sing to himself. So low I couldn't hear it. But the mockingjays—"

"Have amazing hearing," Rue finishes with a grin that I can't help but return.

"And then they would repeat whatever I couldn't hear so loudly that the whole District can hear it," I conclude. Back in the meadow, _our _meadow, Edward had sang something that I couldn't hear — a beautiful melody that should belong to gods. He would always hum it to himself, but never loud enough for me to hear. He was embarrassed, apparently. In District 12, the mockingjays could repeat it. The overlapping tones sounded unearthly. The song outmatched him in beauty.

"What are your powers?" Rue asks suddenly.

I don't even know where to start with my power. "Well, Edward's telepathic."

Rue's eyes widen. "He's telepathic? He can read my thoughts?" she asks. I hadn't thought of that. Can he read her mind, even through all of the pain?

"Yeah."

"Can he send messages?" she asks.

I shake my head.

"That's Thresh's power. He can do it from a distance, but it's exhausting and it has to be someone that he really knows," she says. "And I... well, I can..." she stops. "It's complicated," she replies.

"We have a lot of time," I say.

"I know people's intentions. Almost like telling the future. If they're about to attack me, I know what they're going to do. I know if someone's going to hurt me or not... and you're a shield, aren't you?" she asks, and I'm taken aback.

"How do you know?" I ask.

"So you _are _a shield."

"How do you know?" I repeat.

"Because I couldn't tell. I can tell if someone is dangerous. But it didn't work on you," says Rue.

"Edward can't hear me," I say. "You can't read me, either."

She shakes her head. Ruefully. "That's the first time it happened. Do you think there's anyone else?"

I bite back a grin. I'm not _supposed _to have known anything about vampires until after I was changed. "I don't know," I lie, and it feels like betrayal to this little wisp of a girl who I've known for all of ten minutes. But it's for the cameras, so I don't feel too guilty.

"I hope not. Gifts aren't supposed to fail," she says.

"They aren't?" I ask.

"Not unless there's a shield."

"Couldn't you break through my shield? With practice?"

She laughs out loud. "Of course not! Opposite gifts cancel each other out!" She seems to regret it as soon as she said it.

But Edward read my mind. Only for a few seconds. But he did break through. Is something wrong with me?

Ugh. I'm an all-powerful creature of the night that never sleeps, drinks blood, sits with my mouth open, and sparkles in the sunlight. And I'm worried that something might be wrong with me.

I jump at the seal of the Capitol in the sky, but not as much as I would have a few hours ago. During the anthem, I see my chance to ask a question. No one will be able to hear us talking. "Rue, how do you know so much about vampires?" I ask.

She sighs. "There was a coven of them living in District 11. The Capitol eventually caught them and executed them," she says.

"How can the Capitol kill vampires, anyways?" She points back to the forest and I nod. "Who were they?" I ask.

"Carmen, Eleazar, Irina, and I think someone named Kate. Oh, and Tanya."

Something inside me feels hollow. I know those names. The Denali coven, all gone. I never really knew them, but it makes my world feel just a bit smaller. I had always seen it as though the Cullens were the only part of my family that I had to worry about. Now that I know my cousins are gone, and that we don't have anyone to look to for help, it just... hurts. If I include the Denalis, there were thirteen of us originally.

Now there are seven, soon to be five.

I finally respond to Rue.

"You knew them?" I ask.

She nods. "Carmen saved my life once. It was all when I was little—"

The sky goes dark and I know we can't talk anymore. Or at least not about things we don't want the Capitol to hear. I need my sponsors, and I don't want to anger whoever controls the fireballs and the Mutts.

"So what's the plan for tomorrow?" she asks, covering for us.

"Assuming Edward wakes up, we're going after the Careers."

She gives a small gasp. "Bella, there are..." she pauses. "Three of them."

"And there are three of us," I say, then grin at her. She rolls her eyes.

"Like we'd have any chance against them," she sighs.

"They got the worst of the animals, and they don't have those leaves. How long do you think they'll be out?"

"Only a few more hours later than Edward, if they're not awake by now," Rue replies.

"We could probably get to them now..."

"And if they're already awake?"

"We don't stand a chance anyways."

"Ugh, you keep saying that. And you say it like it doesn't even matter."

"You know what? To me it really doesn't. I've been close to death before, this isn't any different."

"Bella, we've _all _faced starvation."

"People have tried to kill me. _Many _times."

Rue's gaze falls to the ground, and when she looks back up at me I almost think she's going to cry. "I think the Capitol is already trying to kill us," she admits.

I nod. "They just want to be entertained at the same time." I could probably could be blown up any second now for saying something like this. I know for certain that the cameras have cut away from us by now.

"I don't want to die, Bella,'' she says.

"We'll be fine," I say. I feel stupid, but she's twelve!

She shakes her head.

"Do you know where the Careers are?" I ask, changing the subject.

"I think they're on the other side of the Cornucopia."

"Have you been spying on them?"

"A little..."

"Do you know where anyone else is?"

"We're the only ones who made it through the jungle, I think. We should be safe for now."

"Do the Mutts come back out at night?"

"Only when Tributes try to get past the forest. And they aren't nocturnal. They'll attack you in the day, too. We might be trapped."

"We'll have to go around."

She shakes her head. "I've been trying. I think it must go all the way around the arena."

"So we'll have to go through."

She shrugs. "We could just wait. Maybe everyone will try to make it through the forest. Then we'll be the only ones left."

"Right." I resist the urge to roll my eyes or laugh. Rue does the latter.

"We'll have to go through the forest. But we'll have to plan everything. Down to the last second."

"Were you injured, Rue?"

"The wolf-things never got me. But yes."

"And we were _all_ hurt. So we have to figure out what went wrong last time."

Rue turns her head to the side to think for a minute. "We waited for them to attack." She pauses. "And then the Careers provoked them."

_"And _we weren't working together."

"And we won't make that mistake next time," says Edward, and I jump. He doesn't seem as dazed as I was, but then again he's probably been listening to our conversation for the past several minutes.

I can't help myself when I fling my arms over his neck. He catches me, but not with as much strength as I'd like. I help him to his feet and pull away slightly.

"How long have you been awake?" I ask. He smiles, but it never reaches his eyes. The hint of sadness is enough to tell me he's smiling for the cameras.

"It was during the anthem."

_He knows._ I change the subject. "Do you have any ideas on overcoming the Careers?"

He looks up at the sky and gives the camera some time to focus on him. He does his best impression of Haymitch, and says, "Stay alive." I have to laugh at that. It feels good to not be so... _alone._

I won't lie. I'm a little shocked when Edward relaxes and brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. Weren't we just talking about our dead friends and killing people?

Then I remember that we're the star crossed lovers from District 12 and that every camera is probably trained on us. We could die at any second and we're being watched by every citizen in the country and I'm not exactly in the mood for romance. But if I recall, one of the happiest moments of my life was reuniting under the clock tower and in the midst of fatal sunlight. It was strange, for in that instant I knew we were both in mortal danger, yet I had never felt more complete.

Not now. We both almost died, we're halfway out of the dark, and yet his touch feels alien.

I'm shocked when he pulls me into a kiss. I don't react at first, I'm frozen in place, unable to move. But we're supposed to be the star-crossed lovers from District 12. It feels wrong, it's meant to be private, not something exposed to the whole of Panem. I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the moment. It's impossible, I'm too nervous, too embarrassed. The Capitol doesn't deserve to know that I love him. My panicked breath alerts him of my fear, so he makes an excuse and turns away.

Edward pulls away and turns to Rue.

"Sorry." Just like we forgot that we were in front of a twelve-year-old and didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable. She smiles and nods.

"So all of that _is _true then."

I manage an awkward laugh and her beam widens. Edward decides to play the role for the audience and turns his head to the side, wearing an almost dreamy look. "Would either of you ladies care for a drink?" he asks, and I laugh again. He takes my arm to escort me... wherever we're going.

None of us want to go into the jungle to hunt. That would be idiotic, and it's unspoken that we'll go in the other direction until we find something. That something turns out to be several jaguars and a gorilla. Edward takes the gorilla, but I'm uncomfortable with something so, well, human.

"Have you ever hunted a gorilla before, Edward?" I ask when it's over.

"Once."

"As in, once before now or just once?"

_"Once," _he repeats. "What'd you think of the jaguar? I've never had one of those, either."

"Jaguar tastes like orange peels," I state simply.

"Really?" he asks in disbelief.

"No, of course not," I laugh. It tastes more like dust-flavored spray-paint mixed with a few meatballs. "But it is better than a mountain lion," I admit. "And a thousand times better than rabbit." I actually had rabbit once when I was human, I think. I don't remember where, but I do know that I absolutely hated it.

"You _drank_ a _rabbit?" _

"I'm not the one who occasionally catches birds and field-mice."

Rue stares at me like I'm either lying, joking, or crazy. "You were a vampire before the Games, weren't you?"

Great. We're probably on TV right now. I don't need the Capitol to know this. Edward nods slowly.

"I was around before Panem," he admits.

Rue gasps. "What was it like?"

He pauses for a moment, and I know that this is the time for propaganda. If he says one word against the Capitol, we'll be hit by a fireball in a matter of seconds. "Nothing like Panem. Medicine wasn't distributed as well, people argued over silly things like the government, and, worst of all, not everyone was loyal. There were some hints of rebellion in some areas. I'm sure we would have been back in the dark if it weren't for the Capitol. The war was..." he shakes his head as if he's at a loss for words. "We owe it to them. Twenty-four children is a small price to pay."

Our District probably hates him now, but the sponsors, the ones who are actually going to matter, have fallen completely in love. I can see Effie's beam and Haymitch's scowl _and _approval through the cameras. Rue looks slightly disappointed, and I'm only worried that they'll firebomb us for breaking the law. But then, who can blame us? Hasn't he just praised the _"great and almighty" _Capitol? We'd be dead by now if they wanted us that way. And I'm starting to suspect that the Capitol knew what my family was from the very beginning.

A few seconds later, Rue bites back a laugh. She knows exactly what we're doing. "Except when we're one of the twenty-four," she breathes. Edward just nods, and I don't think there's anything else to be said.

"So what are we going to do about the Careers?" I finally ask as we retreat to our makeshift camp. The three of us glance at each other.

"Now that," says Edward. "Is a good question."

* * *

And... that's it. I'll update sooner or later.

Review?

~Midwinter Sun


	14. The Plan

**Near the end of this it gets... *cough* violent... *cough* not unbearably so. Just... poor Rue. I'll leave it at that. **

**Also, I've made some modifications to Bella's shield. I firmly believe that Panem has changed her more than we realize. She agreed with me while she was narrating, so... well, you'll see, especially in the next chapter.**

* * *

_The __**Plan **_(and failure)

* * *

In a matter of hours, we're ready to attempt a trek through the forest. We've worked everything out, down to the last second. Rather than slowly push through, trying not to provoke the Mutts, we're going to go through as fast as possible. If they attack, there should be enough of us to ward them off. We won't hesitate and we certainly won't _stop _in the hopes of keeping the pain at bay. Rue will climb a mountain and light a fire at the top of it. This should be good bait. When they start moving in that direction, Edward and I will corner them. We _should _have the element of surprise. We'll chase them into them up the mountain. Or maybe be chased. Conveniently, we'll have a fire at the top. Which is perfect for sending them up in flames.

"How are we going to know that we all made it out of this alive?" I ask, feeling stupid. Rue and Edward already seem to know something I don't.

"Mockingjays," she says. "Haven't you seen them?"

No, actually I haven't. I still don't see how that has anything to do with our survival. To my surprise, Rue looks up into the air and sings four notes. It sounds like Big Ben, only minor. The mockingjays repeat it, and the overlapped tones sound unearthly.

"During harvest, I whistle it to signal to everyone that it's curfew. So just whistle that once you're safe. Or once you're on your way," she says.

I've never killed anyone. It's a funny statement, and something that should feel completely natural, obvious. But it doesn't. As a newborn vampire, and as a Tribute in the Hunger Games, the idea of murder feels as natural, as _easy _as blinking. Although I once thought we were turned for the super speed and strength, I'm starting to think that it's only to dampen our natural repulse to killing. Too often, Tributes will form alliances and refuse to kill. But Rue is too innocent and Edward is my own, private Prince Charming. We're in no danger of turning on each other. Hopefully.

"Are you ready, Bella?" Edward asks me a little after dawn. I nod at him.

"How long?" I question.

"We move at dusk."

"And until then?" I ask.

"Your shield," he says, as if it's obvious.

"Yeah," I ask. Well, _say. _I forgot to inflect it.

"You need to learn to _project _it."

"Huh?" I've no idea what he's talking about. I mean, I know he mentioned this earlier, but my brain was fogged by pain.

He sighs. "You have a shield that can protect us. I should have started on this earlier. But we still have a few hours. . ."

"How can I even tell if I'm projecting it?" I ask.

"You just have to use it like, a muscle I guess. I could only read people a few feet away from me when I first started hearing thoughts."

I ponder this for a few seconds. "So. . . I can get better at this?" I ask. "I don't know exactly what, but. . ."

"Bella, you're _powerful_. Rue, to give you an idea, her gift worked when she was human." Rue's eyes widen. For a second I can swear that I'm blushing.

"A shield," she states. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I can read just about everyone's mind. Except hers," he says.

She looks impressed. "So, if she projected the shield, could she keep you from hearing my thoughts?" asks Rue.

Edward nods. "Do you want to try, Bella?"

It's the most frustrating thing I've ever done. Edward tells Rue to think of a word. I have to keep him from guessing what it is. Although, considering the fact that I feel like I'm trying to protect someone from a ghost with a fake bed-sheet, it isn't really guesswork for him. Rue is time and time again impressed with his ability to read minds so easily.

Hours pass, and I'm exhausted. Rue and Edward exchange mental jokes. I can't help but think that they're talking about me. The worst part is that they say they won't tell me unless I can block him from reading her. I'm exhausted.

"What now?" she asks with a grin.

"You're thinking of mountain lions."

She waits a few seconds. "And now?"

"The ocean."

Rue purses her lips and cocks her head to the side.

Edward nods. "I know. We need a little more motivation, or something to go from." He turns to me. "Do you remember when I broke through your shield, Bella?"

I instinctively flinch at the memory. "So. . . you're saying that you don't think my shield is strong enough."

He shakes his head. "No, your shield is very strong. The Capitol damaged it I think, but it's still incredible. You're not even trying to use it. Just remember what you felt break when I broke through your shield. Try to feel it. It's a muscle; use it."

I try to, I really do, but I just don't think it's there. After another hour or so, it seems completely hopeless. How can I use something that isn't even there?

Rue cocks her head to the side, a wry smile spreading across her face. Edward immediately bursts out laughing.

"What?" I ask. They're laughing too hard to respond. I feel insulted. _What did she think of?! _

"Bella," Edward says in between laughs, "I'll tell you if you can block Rue's thoughts."

I'm furious. _"What did she think about me?!" _I demand.

Rue tries to compose herself for a moment and fails. "I. . . I never said it was about you!"

"Then _why won't you tell me?!" _

Birds fly away. Oops.

I sigh. "Edward," I put on my best puppy-dog look. "Please."

He can't; he's laughing too hard. _Rue. I like you. A lot. But I hate you right now._

"Bella," Rye manages to stay serious. "Just. . . _try!" _On the last word she starts laughing again. I can't restrain the growl in my chest. It escapes as a mixture of a hiss and a snarl. Afterwards I narrow my eyes. Did I really just make that awful noise? At Rue? At Edward?

That seems to calm them down a bit. "Sorry, love," says Edward. "You just need some motivation."

_"Tell me!" _I shriek at him. He shakes his head.

Now I know they're talking, well, thinking about me. And when Rue starts spitting other mental comments on the same note to him, they both laugh harder. What are they talking about?! I'm so furious, so utterly irrationally _furious, _that my vision takes on a strange reddish tint. Strength that could bend steel and shatter diamond pulses through my limbs.

The rage brings every aspect of my being into sharper focus. I'm like a gemstone, multi-faceted, a face or a vertex for every emotion, feeling, and sensation I have; my senses are clearer than ever. On the diamond, I'm aware of another part of me. One I never knew I had. It's a sort of sixth-sense. I can feel it now, feel it with every part of me. A thin membrane that separates me from the world. That _protects _me.

But it's stiff. Like any human muscle that hasn't been used for a long time, it physically hurts to move it. But I feel that it's all but unbreakable. Perhaps I could lower it if I chose to, perhaps not; Edward broke through it once, but now that I can _feel _the way it protects me, I don't think he ever will again.

I suddenly can _see _Jane's attack. Thin and dissipating slowly. This is her attack from all those months ago? I push my shield out to the attack. I can not only feel it, but I can _see _the small bubble. I doubt anyone else can. I swaddle the near-invisible daggers and they disappear entirely. It's like my shield is made of extra-strength duct-tape. Not only is it incredibly strong, mental attacks _stick _to it until they go away. I wonder, though. If I can move that thin wisp of pain, could I redirect it to someone else?

_Snap! _Barely an inch and already my shield comes back to me. So much for that idea if I can't even support it. I'm mentally exhausted. That was probably the hardest thing I've ever done. Edward and Rue are still laughing, unaware of the fact that I even moved it an inch. I remember my fury. Even though my breakthrough has clouded some of the newborn rage, it isn't very hard to unlock have an endless reservoir of wrath. I tap back into the bank of ire and suddenly I am livid.

My vision is tainted crimson again; it gives me the strength I need to move the shield a few inches. I walk closer to Rue. Still, I can't cover her entirely. Neither of them are laughing anymore, my serious expression has tamed them. "I'm sorry," I say. "It's useless."

Edward sighs.

"Will you tell me what was funny?" I inquire. He shrugs. For a few seconds, we sit in silence.

Finally, the sun reaches the rim of the horizon. I'm shaking, almost as badly as I was before the Games started. It feels hard to believe that, less than a minute ago, I was laughing. Edward tries to calm me, but it's not use. What if something goes wrong? What if Cato kills me? What if Cato kills Edward? My mind can't stop running in circles, spinning around the _what if _questions that I hardly dare to ask.

Without much conversation, we take off into the forest. The Mutts fly at us from all directions, but I manage to swat them off of me before they can sink their teeth into me. The attack stops early, and I suspect the Gamemakers have something to do with it. They don't want an attack this promising to fall flat before it's even started.

The forest has an eerie quality when it's this empty. So many horrors happened to me here in such a short period of time. The boy from District 4 ripped apart here, the girl from District 1 smoldering there. Daylight only accents the ghostly quality to it. It's like a funeral in burning sunlight. It haunts but doesn't frighten, only aches and throbs until I'm certain that my dead heart is being ripped to shreds. People _died _here.

But these are the Hunger Games. I can't worry about it.

We quickly reach the foot of the mountain. I realize, for the first time, that we can't all win this. The odds are not in our favor. That honor only belongs to one Tribute, and I can only guess who. I'm reluctant to say goodbye to Rue, but I'm grateful to her for letting me stay with Edward. I'm going to have a hard time leaving him for the next half of forever.

"I'll see you again, Bella," she says before flashing a grin at me. There are six other Tributes out there, _not _counting us or the Careers. Any number of things could go wrong between now and then. Thresh is monstrous. He may be from her District, but he could still kill her. And that fox-faced girl, Melanie, could give anyone a knife in their back, flames dancing on their hair. I knew the moment I saw her mischievous grin that she was no good. Rue will see me again? I hope so.

Even though I've only known her for a day and a half, I still feel a connection to her. I pull her into a slightly awkward hug and then give her my best smile.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Why?" she asks, confused.

"For coming up with this _stupid _idea," I breathe.

The sun finally sinks below the horizon. "It's time to move, Bella," says Edward. "Go on, Rue. We'll see you in a few hours." She nods at him and, with a heavy sigh, turns to scurry up the mountain. She plucks a handful of greenery before blurring out of my sight.

For a moment, I'm still, just breathing and watching how my arctic breath doesn't make clouds of smoke in the icy forest. The snow looks so odd, after the days in the tropics. Then Edward turns to me, and I hear his words before he speaks. We're going to be alright, the Careers won't kill us, nothing bad is going to happen, Rue will be fine. It will only sadden me, confuse me, make me feel like my heart is being torn out of my chest because I _know _that any of our lives, well, existences, whatever, could be ended in a fraction of a second. So before he can talk, I stop him with a tilt of my head— the temptation of a kiss.

_Kiss | kis | verb [with obj.] touch with the lips as a sign of love, sexual desire, reverence, or greeting: _he kissed her on the lips.

Someone burn the dictionary.

Edward takes the opportunity eagerly. For the crowd or for _me? _When he starts to pull away, I know the answer, but I don't want to. I feel the moment slipping away, running through my hands like grains of sand, and I, selfishly, throw my arms around his neck. The caressing warmth of hope bubbles up in my chest. The forest is ablaze. The arena turns to dust. In a pillar of fire, the whole of Panem fades to ashes. I hardly notice.

The heat grows inside of me. It's the same fire that I found in the Capitol. Pleasing. Addictive. _Dangerous. _The flames of love are the shade of blush, light and airy and soothing. But it becomes something else, a brighter red that could destroy the Capitol. There is a fire inside of me, and this is an act of rebellion. I know I have to end it. But I can't.

My desperate fingers clutch the thin fabric that covers his heart. _I'm scared, Edward. I'm scared for your life, not mine. Don't leave me. Never, never, never leave me._

I don't want the moment to end, but it does, too soon. He pulls away, and I'm powerless to stop him. It isn't as though he's stronger than I am, but I know that this is wrong. That we have to stop, now, before the Capitol grows bored of this and hurls a fireball or cracks apart the earth between us. I want him to tackle me to the ground, but obviously that isn't going to happen.

I force myself away and we plunge deeper into the snowy woods. The majority of the white has melted away, leaving bare, brown grass peaking through. As we move along, though, it gets colder, and the dead plants disappear. After about ten minutes of solid running, Edward halts.

"Are we close?" I mouth, too afraid to speak in a whisper.

He nods. "Come here." He doesn't make a sound, either. I glide towards him at inhuman speeds, making sure I don't disturb the ground beneath me. He spins me around and covers my eyes. Blinded, all of my other sense go into overdrive. Then he whispers, "What do you hear?"

Voices. One, two, three. There are three of them. I know without thinking that those are the Careers. I couldn't have noticed it if he hadn't pointed it out.

"The Careers?" I ask, so quietly I can hardly hear it. I glance back at him and he nods. "Where?"

He inhales. "What do you _smell?" _he mouths.

Blood, and lots of it. It isn't the thick, synthesized stuff, but the very same kind that nearly drove me insane at the restaurant. It reeks of euphoria more potent than morphling.

"Blood," I whisper back.

_"Human _blood," he replies, a hint of a snarl to his tone. My eyes widen. That was _human _blood at the restaurant? My mental voice shoots through at least two octaves. I feel disgusted with myself. Impure. Repulsive. All of that time preparing for the bloodlust did nothing in the end. I drank human blood without even realizing it. Somehow, that seems even worse than killing someone on accident.

"Why is _that _in the Games?" I ask, my voice a little too loud.

The sun passes completely below the horizon. Nightfall. Twilight. The end of another day. It becomes noticeably darker, and my gaze automatically jerks in the direction of the sinking yellow orb.

"Not _all _newborns are so controlled, Bella," he says. "They're probably trying to drive the others insane."

"No one died at the interviews."

"True," he admits. "But it will make some people overly competitive for the, well, _feeding."_

"How did you get in with the Careers, Edward?" I breathe, suddenly curious.

"Join or die," he says. "I led them to you to try to find you. That didn't work too well."

I nod. _Back on topic, Bella. _"So how do we attack?"

"We don't. We wait for them to go after the fire. They'll know that a Tribute's over there. We chase them there and up the mountain. And then. . ."

"We toss them into the flames."

He nods.

"We have you. And me. And Rue. But they're armed. We aren't."

Edward smiles sadly. "They'll probably leave the Cornucopia unguarded. We can pick up a couple of flame throwers if it makes you happier."

"And super-sharp chainsaws?" I ask playfully. He gives a silent laugh.

Then we hear shouts in the distance. The Careers. There's whooping and a bit of laughter. Cato cackles and I hear the girl, who must be Clove, warble a little chuckle. Edward holds a finger to his lips, and we silently slide through the forest. I quiver slightly, and I don't dare to breathe. Without my sense of smell, I feel blind. As though someone has wrapped an invisible wall around me and I hopelessly beat it, in vain, to attempt escape. The barriers that can't be seen are the most frightening.

Suddenly the Careers are flying at us. There are only three of them, but it feels like hundreds of them, coming from all directions. A hiss escapes me. Edward and I bolt from them, but I'm almost gleeful. Did I really think we'd make it there unseen? Are they going after us or the fire? It doesn't really matter. They'll chase us up the mountain and right into our trap. I glance at Edward and raise my eyebrows. _Do they know? _I ask with my expression. After looking to make sure we aren't seen, he grins at me. We're not the prey, we're the bait.

Bait isn't exactly the best position to be in, but it works. Bait _is _better than prey. It's a little higher on the food-chain. And at least they'll be the ones gone at the end of this. I try to hide my glee as they chase us through the woods.

There is no wolf pack this time as we advance towards the mountain, and it's broad daylight. I thought my new eyes could see everything, but it still looks so different than it did a few nights ago. I glance over at Edward. He's so much faster than I am, but not stronger. I can't make sense of how fast his legs move. Still, my strides match three of his, and I manage to keep up. I'm not following, and I'm not leading either.

I glance behind at the Careers. We're ahead of them, but they're still following. Right into our trap, I tell myself. Right into our trap. We have nothing to worry about. Probably. Even so, I can't stop my hands from shaking.

We reach the foot of the mountain. Edward makes me climb first. I clamber my way up until I get to the plateau, where the wolves chased me. He's right behind me, and the Careers less than an arms length from him. He wraps his arm protectively around me and practically drags me to the cliff face. I shove my hands and feet into the rocks and force my way up. Chips and stones fall on the Careers, too.

"You're not going to get away," I hear Marvel laugh at us. Truth is, I don't want to get away. "So you may as well stop now."

I glance down at them. Clove is a lot smaller than I thought she was, but she looks far fiercer than I expected. Cato is as anyone would expect— cold and heartless. We've slowed down quite a bit, probably because everyone, hunters, hunted, and bait, knows how futile running is in this arena. We don't ever tire. Running only prolongs the chase.

We bolt to the top. We're not the hunted, we're the bait, and bait it better than prey. I have to tell myself this dozens of times to get myself to calm down. About halfway up, Edward sweeps me off of my feet. I wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him as he runs at speeds faster than I thought possible. He is faster than the others. Much, much, much faster. The world around me blurs.

I blink. I blink again. Before I can try it a third time, we're at the top of the mountain.

"How did you _do _that?" I ask, breathless. Well, no not breathless. _Stunned. _

"I'm faster than the others," he says.

"I _know _that," I reply. "But I've never seen you do _that _before." I look up into his suddenly black eyes. They're tense and glazed over, like glass, appearing ready to shatter.

"I never did that around you because, well, you were human. Vampires can push their abilities to their maximum, beyond just about anything. But it makes us incredibly thirsty."

That's how he moved so fast. "Are you going to be alright for the fight?" I ask. He nods.

"A little weak, but I'm more experienced. . . Rue?" he calls. No answer. He whistles her notes, over and over, and the mockinjays carry on the tune.

Ten seconds later, she peeks out from behind a rock. "You're back?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply. _Obviously._

"Are they coming?" asks Rue.

Edward nods.

"And last words of advice?" I ask him.

"Stay alive," he replies dryly. "And don't let them get their arms around you, even if you're as strong as they are, they'll crush you." I remember these words and I smile at him.

"And _never go for the obvious kill," _I say. He smirks.

"They'll be expecting that," says Edward, to both of us, though he's really doing it for the inside joke. "And you will _lose."_ He mimics Jasper perfectly.

A sudden gust of wind blows the Careers' scent in our direction and destroys the humor. "I can smell them," says Rue, glancing at both of us. "They're coming!" she whispers.

We stand in a triangle as they approach. Remind me why we decided to lure the Careers like this? The fire burns brightly in the night. All we have to do is push them in. Why didn't it occur to me that I could be the one burning at the end of this? I look up into the sky. There is, without a shadow of a doubt, a camera trained on my face.

"Jasper," I mouth at the clouds. "Help."

I see the Careers. They stand a field's length away. Edward and I charge at them. Rue stays behind a little bit. For someone so small, she's awfully quick.

Cato's fist flies at my face. I bend over backwards to avoid him, ending up doing a full backflip. I take a swing at him with my foot. Clove grabs my arm and pulls me away. Edward and Marvel are engaged in combat. Cato knocks me to the ground, and his mate stares at him with a look of disgust on their face. She could have killed me if he hadn't interfered. Marvel catches Rue and locks his hands around her neck. I sprint over there, kick him in the face, and give her enough time to escape.

Clove tries to wrap her arms around me and I grab her hand, swing her over my head, and thrust her into the ground. I've never fought like this before. Even I can barely see my movements. Clove isn't a threat for now, so I bolt towards Cato, punching him in the gut. I dodge a few more blows, as does he as I swing my leg over his shoulder and almost into his head. Then I charge at him head on. He catches me and sends me flying into Marvel's arms.

Clove is up and running again, she and Cato take on Edward while Marvel struggles to end my life. _I want to scream at the top of my lungs. _I wriggle out of his grasp. I don't even try to knock him to the ground, I just lunge at Cato and get him off of Rue's neck. Everything starts to descend into absolute chaos.

That's when I notice Cato staring at Rue. She acts like someone's hitting her and strangling her. And I realize his gift. He can fight people with his mind.

It hasn't been ten seconds yet.

I make a habit of standing in front of Edward and Rue to block his attacks. Once again, my shield keeps them out and away from me. Another vampire power blocked. With Cato's gift out of the way, we start to make a bit of progress for half of a second before Clove gets annoyed and shoots a look at Edward. I'm not standing in front of him, and he crumples to the ground in absolute agony. I twist her wrist, grab her neck, and knock her to the ground. Again.

It's been ten seconds. My vision is tainted crimson.

Edward is still on the ground. He's in pain. Rue and I are against three. Clove swings at me and I jump out of the way. Everyone here is too strong, too fast, and we don't tire. This could last for hours. I try to kick her. I see Edward focus on me as I fight with her. He mouths the word, _twist. _I'm supposed to kill this girl. But I don't want to. I don't want to. . .

I block Cato as he swings at me. Rue bends over backwards and lands back on her feet. We both know we can't do this forever. Clove gives her that same evil look and she screams. I step in front of her before she falls to the ground. Clove gives me an evil glare while Cato tries to mentally punch me in the gut. I feel the pressure on my forehead— a sharp, burning pain— but I don't let my guard down. Not for one second.

With a sudden burst of rage and panic, my vision turns completely red and my shield feels stronger than ever before. I push it out in front of me, still struggling with Cato and Clove, who is still trying to attack me. I remember the duct-tape. Sure enough, her attack is still clinging to my shield. It isn't harming me, but it's there. I manage to cover Rue, and she looks up at me. _Thank you, _she seems to say.

My vision is turning a brighter red.

Marvel is in my sight again. Senseless with bloodlust, I charge him and kick him into a boulder. He flounders for a few seconds while I tackle Clove to the ground. She's shocked and gives a feral scream. For the first time in the Games, I try to kill someone. I raise my hand to strike her, but Cato sends me flying up and away. I land just off of the cliff. I could hold myself up with a single finger, it isn't a problem. It's just that the overhang of the rock is cracking. I use my hands to push me back up. I clear it by ten feet and land back there.

I manage to shield her again, but it's distracting. Cato kicks at me. I snap at him. Clove tugs at Rue's hair. She looses an arm. She howls in panic and pain. When she approaches me for revenge, I slide underneath her. We're defending ourselves, nothing more. No one has died, and it's been thirty seconds. Impressive for a vampire fight.

Cato gets his hands on my neck and laughs. "Ready to end this?" he whispers into my ear. Rule number one of being a real life bad-guy: don't make epic speeches. Edward is up again and he tugs Cato off of me. Cato is stronger. He nearly crushes me with his force. I dig my teeth into his shoulder and he howls something unintelligible.

I can't get my shield around Rue and Edward, we're too far apart. Rue or Edward, Rue or Edward. Clove keeps making Rue scream with her ability to cause pain. She taunts her with cruel words. Cato folds his arms and kicks Edward with invisible limbs. I stay close to Edward. He's the one that matters most, here.

Marvel's gift is ineffective on me, but I see its effects on Rue. By the way she freezes every time he glances at her, I know he can freeze people in place for brief seconds. Still, he can fight. He finally manages to land a blow on me. A kick in the stomach. I see a long crack on his arm, I know he wants revenge for my throwing him into a boulder. He grabs me by the neck and swings me to the ground.

Edward gasps. He looks at me with despair. Cato has him too closely cornered for him to help me. I look to my other side. The fire is very, very hot. I look up at Marvel, fearfully, and he smirks at me.

I keep my shield around Edward. I'm going to die, but I want to help him for as long as possible. They're all gifted with offensive weapons; they'll _die _if I can't protect them.

I shut my eyes.

I am silently shouting at the top of my lungs. I want to die with dignity, not with a girlish shriek and a sob of hopelessness. Every time something has happened to me, I have been too injured to think clearly, or I have closed my eyes. When Edward beheaded Victoria, when they killed James. I always shut them tight. But now, as I stare at certain doom, I can't bear to keep them closed. They snap open. I'm wide awake. I gaze at my death with my

Eyes

Wide

Open.

* * *

Rue gives a shriek and flies at Marvel, sending Edward to safety in the process. Clove tries to hurt her but she ignores it. She knocks him off of me. For a moment she tries to fight him. She tries to kick him in the head. I can't get my shield on her, it's riveted on Edward. Marvel freezes her in place for a moment. Before she can react, he brings his hand down on her neck. There's a horrible cracking sound as her body contorts in unnatural, broken ways.

I've barely had time to mouth the word _no _when he knocks her into the fire.

* * *

**Oh yes. I just did that. I'll go hide and hope no one hates me for this... on a side note, I'll probably be done with this story in ten to fifteen chapters.**

**Review?**


	15. The Aftermath

_**Edit: Yeah, I know I put this on the first chapter, but I meant** **to put it on this one when I first updated it. This has been nominated for the Energize WIP Awards, so don't forget to vote before March 20. Link on my profile! **_

A/N: Sorry for not updating in so long. I've had this written for quite awhile, but I haven't been willing to upload it because, well, it made me a bit depressed. And I was just lazy/busy. Just in case you don't remember what happened last (which I doubt), here's the last bit of Chapter 14.

Last Time:

**_Rue gives a shriek and flies at Marvel, sending Edward to safety in the process. Clove tries to hurt her but she ignores it. She knocks him off of me. For a moment she tries to fight him. She tries to kick him in the head. I can't get my shield on her, it's riveted on Edward. Marvel freezes her in place for a moment. Before she can react, he brings his hand down on her neck. There's a horrible cracking sound as her body contorts in unnatural, broken ways. _**

**_I've barely had time to mouth the word _****no****_ when he knocks her into the fire. _**

And now, Chapter 15.

* * *

_The __**Aftermath**_

* * *

I'm too close to the fire. Embers spray onto me, and I'm certain I'm going to die. I scream at the top of my lungs and role as fast as I can away from Marvel. He tries to force me into the flames. He almost thrusts me into the fire and my clothes catch. An enraged Edward saves me, knocking me out of the way and onto the ground, where I roll for my life. Existence. _Whatever! I don't even care anymore!_

Abruptly, I'm furious. Beyond furious; murderously enraged. My bloodlust is beyond anything I've ever felt before. I want to rip Marvel limb from limb, to dance around the fire as he turns to ash.

My clothes are on fire. I try to bat the flames off. Failure. I tear a long strip of fabric from my shirt; it still smolders. My muscles tighten, I act automatically.

My hands wrap the fiery fabric around Marvel's neck and pull. I wrap the fire around him. When the flames start to lick my fingers, I scream and let go. With Edward's help Marvel, he flies into the flames. And that's it, the end of a Tribute. I hear a cannon.

I realize, too late, that I am screaming. My shield still pulses around me, the little bubble protecting Edward and I. But it isn't enough, I couldn't save...

I fly at Clove, senseless. I want to scream at her, so I do. The snarling is still coming from me, wordless rage. They killed a little girl. How could _anyone _do something like that?! My shield flies out from me, the metallic taste of madness on my tongue. The bubble of sheer energy engulfs me, engulfs Edward, engulfs most of the field, with little singularities, little sinkholes for the Careers. They are _not _protected.

My bubble of electric fabric doesn't recoil now. It's exhausting, it makes me thirsty, but I can handle it. It pulses around me, around Edward, like a living thing. I can feel everything it touches, I can sense the world around me with it. It's like an extra limb.

Clove tries to tear my arm from my shoulders while I'm distracted. My vision turns completely red. I feel the smoldering, fiery fabric in my hands. I feel the living fabric around me. Most importantly, I feel the remnants of Jane's attack, of Clove's attack. I grope in the back of my mind for the little knives caught in my net.

No, I am not a shield, I am not a shield at all. Perhaps I was long ago, but I've changed since I lived in Forks. I've adapted and learned to live in Panem. I've learned to survive. I am no shield. I am a _mirror._ When I find them, I swathe the two Careers in pain.

Clove screams and collapses into Cato's arms. He cries out but doesn't falter. Maddened with bloodlust, he snarls at me. He lunges at me and knocks my body against the boulder on the other side of the field. A hiss escapes my lips and he sinks his teeth into my shoulder. The hiss becomes a shriek. I hear an awful yelp that comes from the pit of my stomach— followed by the sharp sound of shattering rock. My arm is already healing itself, but it nearly came off. I glance down at the crack that shouldn't be there.

That's when I loose it. I can't see through the haze of red. My good arm tries to strangle him and my legs knock him a dozen yards and into the ground. I fly into him, shrieking. Edward tries and fails to pull me off of him. Venom seethes from my mouth as I scream and scream and scream. I'm no longer swathing them, I'm strangulating them and radiating pure agony.

The red is pulsing anguish through me, too. I can't see, I can't feel, I'm blind, and yet somehow I'm fighting with Marvel. I want him to scream. I snap at him. Vampire flesh tastes like dirt. But venom stings. It stings, and I hate him, and I want him to sting. The sounds coming from the field are screams and shrieks and howls of pain. Then the utter rage eclipses my hearing, too.

And then the animal inside of me takes over completely. Somehow, Edward and I manage to drive Cato and Clove off of the mountain. It takes a fight that I don't witness. It's too late to choose anything. They're gone, but some part of me, and not a small part, can't accept that the danger has left. I'm still shrieking like a wounded animal. It feels like the sides of my throat have sucked shut. The screams are drowned by the horrible choking sound that follows. My lungs running out of air, because I can't breathe and I still want to shout at the top of my lungs. It becomes a sob and a shaky breathe, and then I'm screaming again.

I try to follow them, I have no choice. I stumble downhill and tumble, down, down, down, falling so far. I finally land on one of the mountain's precipices, flat on my stomach. I inhale grass. I scramble onto my feet and stagger forwards. No, I can't let them go, I can't.

The strangled cry that comes from my throat hurts. It burns like fire. I finally fall backwards, knowing that I won't be able to get back up again. Edward catches me. He spins me around and puts his hands on my shoulders, forcing me in his direction. His fingers cup my cheek.

"Bella, Bella, calm down—"

In response, I snarl and try to pull away. For once, he's stronger than me. I collapse in his arms and begin to sob. He pulls me back up to the top. I try to get a hold on myself. The hole in my chest has returned, smaller, less crippling, but there nonetheless. I'm trying not to fall over. Is it possible for a vampire to feel nauseous? The question had puzzled me in Forks. Now I know the answer.

I try to hate Marvel. I really try. He's dead now, burned to a cinder, and I can't bring myself to. It was for the honor of his District, nothing more.

"Bella, it's going to be ok—"

"Ok?! How can this be _ok?! _How can it _ever _be okay?! She's _dead! _She'll always be _dead! _Because of what the _almighty Capitol _did she won't even get the proper burial she deserves!" No one says anything like this in the Games. They would have to cut away from us, except for the fact that this is a death scene. They're required to show it.

"Bella," he says again, more firmly.

"And you just _stood there! _You _saw _in Marvel's mind what he was going to do, and you just stood there, and you, you. . . you didn't save her!You _could have! _You _know _you could have!"

"I would have risked your life in the process."

"And saved hers!" I shout. "She was just a little girl! She had a life! You _know _that they've discovered this so-called _cure _for vampirism— she cold have been happy! You _know _that she wasn't just a soulless monster! You _know _she had a full life ahead of her! I don't!" My voice is cracking at this point, unrecognizable from the velvety vampire voice it usually is. "I'm human! I'm nothing!"

These words come unexpectedly, and I say them before I realize that I am completely wrong. I'm not human. I may be nothing, but I'm not human.

"You're not human anymore."

This makes me even more furious. "Oh, so when I was human I _was _nothing?!"

"Bella."

"I'm not a vampire. No speed, enhanced offensive power, no real thirst, and... Edward, I'm _not _a vampire. I'm a Mutt. I'm just a Mutation. Not a person. Not anything. Just a stupid Mutation!"

"That's not true!"

"She was just a little girl! And you didn't—"

"Bella."

"— save her. You could have. You could have!"

_"Bella!"_ he snaps. Never, not once, has he spoken to me that way, and I react impulsively. With a sudden impulse of rage, I slap him. Much to my horror, he doesn't take this too well. He doesn't look angry, only hurt and shocked.

And I'm horrified. How could I be capable of this?! I hurt Edward. Not only did I accuse him of being a murderer, I hurt him. Physically. I never expected this. How did I? Why did I— I can't think. I double over, sickened by myself. So much for being strong. So much for being Isi, the manufactured spawn of the Capitol. So much for overcoming the silly little girl who wants to die when her _boyfriend _breaks up with her. I'm pathetic and worthless and _I can't take this anymore! _It's too much, far too much. But the anger is back to replace sorrow soon enough. I bolt upright.

This isn't his fault.

Edward stands completely motionless. _Can vampires go into shock? _The fire is still smoldering. Although the wood has become ash, two very distinct piles stand out from the rest. I don't have anything to put out the fire with. No water, and certainly not anything to smother it with. But it's already running out of wood to consume. Vampire venom makes it burn faster.

I stand there until the fire finally dies out completely. Then I gather Rue's ashes. At the edge of the clearing, I find something that breaks my heard— the little wooden chest, with an engraved treble clef. Carefully, I place them inside and shut it. The Capitol won't let me bury her here, a hovercraft will deliver them back to District 11 for the memorial. Still, I place them in the middle of the field. I stare at it for several minutes before I feel a hand on my back and jump.

Shamefully, I face him. "I _slapped _you," I whisper, on the brink of despair.

"Yes," he says, broken. "You did." There is no menace to them, and I can tell without a second of thought that he thinks he deserved it. He doesn't, but no amount of crying or pleading on my part is going to change that. I take another look at the little box of ashes.

"She deserves better than that," I hiss at the sky, at the field, at Edward, at anyone listening. I'm still as a stone, but I'm radiating pure fury. I try to shield myself with the rage, but I'm already succumbing to grief.

How did I not do something? What is wrong with me? Why didn't I think to protect her, too? It's as much my fault as it is Edward's, if not more. I sense him behind me.

"This isn't your fault," I say emotionlessly. "It isn't Marvel's either." It's hard to hate a smoldering pile of ash.

"Then whose is it?"

I glare at the sky. "Who do you _think?"_

Edward takes a long pause. He draws in a quick breath. "What do you want me to do?" he asks in a low voice.

I close my eyes. "Sing," I whisper.

"Sing?"

I nod slowly. My eyes sting from tears that will never fall. "Please."

"Bella, I'm not a good singer."

"When you sing, Edward, the mockingjays fall silent. You're incredible."

"It's only because of what I am. All vampires can sing," says Edward, but his argument is weak with sorrow.

"Does it matter?" I ask hoarsely.

He sighs in despair. "The willow song?"

"Yes," I croak with a little nod of the head. "The willow song."

The song is a simple lullaby, one those in District 12 sing to their hungry newborns who can't afford food. One those in District 12 sing to their children who suffer from nightmares of the Reaping. And a song always, always sung at coal miners' funerals. The song is old, very old. The words are easy and soothing, promising something better than the horrors we call today. Edward rubs circles on my back, swallows hard enough for me to hear it, and begins:

* * *

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow  
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow  
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes  
And when again they open the sun will rise._

* * *

He takes a momentary pause and steps towards me slightly. Just enough for me to see his face. Just enough for me to know that he's singing to me. He takes my hand and holds my broken, sobbing figure to his chest.

* * *

_Here it's safe, here it's warm  
Here the daisies guard you from every harm  
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true  
Here is the place where I love you._

* * *

Edward kisses my forehead and draws me closer. He intends to stop there. But I have to finish the song for her. I'm on television in front of the entire nation. But my speaking voice already sounds like bells; I'm certain I can't sound too horrible.

The next lines change to an eerie, slightly dissonant minor key.

* * *

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away  
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray  
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay  
And when, again it's morning, they'll wash away._

* * *

The last lines, although we sing them together, are barely audible.

* * *

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true  
Here is the place where I love you. _

* * *

The silence is deafening. Maybe there is sound. Perhaps I just don't hear it. But it should be silent. It should always be quiet. Nothing can change what has happened here. This place should be eternally still. Then, with only a hushed impression of Edward's short breath to warn us of what is coming, the mockingjays take up our song.

They've lost the ability to make words, but the song itself, the melody, is ethereal. A few of the birds, the ones that mimic my warble, have fallen just behind the rest, the overlapping notes forming something more beautiful and otherworldly than anything of the immortal world.

They'll want us to clear out now. There is nothing left for us here, either way.

I hear Edward's voice in my head. His ravings against the Capitol, now dim human memories, reverberate through my head. I never understood what he meant. I never listened. I may as well have been deaf.

But now, while he's as still as a statue and as silent as a stone, I finally hear him. This is unjust. This is wrong. They can take my life; I don't want it. But to take Edward's? To take Rue's? No.

I am a newborn vampire. I need my revenge.

I see a patch of flowers lying in the meadow. They look terribly out of place in a graveyard. I lean down and snatch them out of the ground with the intent to burn them, to toss their ashes off of the cliff. I don't want to see them again. But the coals have died, so I'm about to settle for throwing them when Edward catches my hand while it flies backwards. I turn at him, and I realize it's eerily similar to skipping stones with him. With Rue. I consider yanking my hand away and tossing them anyways, but over his shoulder I see the box of ashes, so alone in the middle of a field.

I take the flowers and move the box. I make a pillow of grass and flowers and daisies for her ashes to lie on. The moon passes from behind the clouds and drapes onto the meadow. Tenderly, I lay the chest into the pile of flowers. I step back and wish that vampires didn't have to die in fire. I want to thread the flowers through her hair, to put them in her hands, to kiss her forehead and lay her down on the bed of grass. But there is nothing left, thanks to the Capitol's Games.

I take a step back into Edward's arms. But, even in their safety, I still feel vulnerable. I know _he _is vulnerable. From here I can see my work. It looks exactly like in the song. It is the Capitol's fault. This is my vengeance.

They must show this. I want to make them accountable. Just for a moment, I want to show the Districts that I'm more than just a pawn.

Then the birds fall silent. Just like when a hovercraft comes. I hear a high-pitched shrieking noise a few seconds later. The mockingjays must have even better hearing than I. Then they give a warning call as the sound grows ever louder. Edward turns around to watch as the hovercraft collects the ashes. I watch as they take the ashes away. "Bye, Rue," I whisper. I press the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips and throw them to the sky.

The birds continue the song after that. Another one looks confused and whistles my tune— my four notes. Rue's for notes. The ones that mean she's safe. "Good and safe," I tell the mockingjay. "We don't have to worry about her anymore." Good and safe.

Then I turn my attention to the living. "Come on, Edward," I say to him. "There's nothing left for us here. It's just a graveyard." _And it ought to be left in peace. _

It is silent. It is empty. It should stay this way, preserved and undisturbed, forever. I turn away and don't look back.

* * *

I am numb on my way down the mountain. The world is a monochrome, never black and never white, trapped in the havens of gray. I see nothing, feel nothing. Maybe there is sound. Maybe I don't hear it. I know things— that Edward wraps his arm around my shoulder, that my feet move beneath me— but I can't feel it. I am numb. The void surrounds me, penetrates me, sucks the life and emotion out of me. There is nothing, and I dread the moment when the pain returns.

I've no idea where to go. The brief sense of home I had with Edward and Rue has vanished. I think Edward might have given up on trying to comfort me, because I suddenly notice that he isn't holding me anymore. I know he's following me, letting my newborn wanderlust take me wherever I need to go. My feet move over the ground and I walk; that is all that matters. Leaving. Getting away from the place where it happened.

I wander this way until sunset. Rue died just before the breaking of dawn. It's been an entire day and I haven't felt a thing. At the sound of a cannon, the complete numbness dies. I don't feel pain or emotion, but I recognize the will to survive. I'm not afraid or watchful, which makes me an easy target. Except I'd kill anyone on sight without emotion or hesitation. Well, maybe not Edward. _Maybe. _Which is probably why he's shadowing me rather than staying too close by.

This is the Games, only one of us can live. If we're the last Tributes winning, we'll either wait a hundred years or kill each other. Or, knowing Edward, he'll find a way to kill himself.

Edward finally says something to him. I don't hear his words, just understand the idea. Do I want to hunt? _I'm not thirsty. _I'm about to tell him this when I hear the thunderous sound of the Capitol anthem. I hear something. That's good; an improvement in my physical well-being.

The boy from District 1 is first, obviously. And then Rue. Now that I have wrapped my mind around the fact that I must choose between life without Edward and life at all, I have all but lost the will to live. Although I don't wish to die, I don't think I could resist the urge to bathe myself in flames, given the opportunity. When one sinks this low, your greatest enemy in a game of survival is yourself.

Finally, my newborn instincts win out and Edward convinces me to hunt. I mindlessly kill the deer, but at the sight of blood I halt. My first kill; no, not the doe. I've killed hundreds of animals with my bow back at home. But Marvel. I destroyed him. I sent him hurtling into the fire. I tried to kill Cato and Clove. Naturally, Marvel didn't bleed when I killed him. But still. Blood means death, and it makes me sick. But I am thirsty; I swallow it but don't taste it. It's like swallowing a sickening medicine with my nose pinched.

"Bella?" Edward asks, noticing how disturbed I look.

I shake my head. Of course I am disturbed, I have witnessed and aided a murder. The frightful look in Marvel's eyes flashes through my head and I shudder. The bloodcurdling shriek and the hiss of embers that forever stole my innocence. Or what I had left of it. _Bella_ sounds like a child's name. It doesn't belong to me.

I inhale and listen. The _thrum_ of heartbeats. Something large. A bear, a mountain lion. "I'm still thirsty," I lie, not wanting to talk anymore.

He seems to enjoy the hunt. I do not. I mindlessly fly after the beast while I ponder the meaning of meaning. I am numb. In the end, Edward lets me take the bear. I still taste nothing. I taste nothing, I feel nothing. Lifeless and defeated, my will to live completely crumples. I wonder how long this is going to last. Suddenly I remember Esme, and I realize _forever _if I don't _do _something. But what? What do I have to work towards? I'll be dead soon, anyways.

"Bella?" Edward says again. I shake my head.

He smiles sadly. I think he's going to say something, but he's cut off by the thunderous voice of Claudius Templesmith.

"Attention Tributes. Attention." Edward and I look up. "The regulations requiring a single Victor have been... suspended. From now on, _two _Victors may be crowned if they originate from the same District. This will be the only announcement." The microphone cuts off.

It takes a moment to register this. Two Tributes. Two Victors. If they're from the same District. Both can live. Both of us can live.

Edward. Before I can stop myself, I call out his name.

* * *

Yay. Now I can pick up the pace a little bit. As for Bella's shield/mirror, I'd like to think she's adapted to live in Panem. I also would have used it if I were Stephanie Meyer... I also liked the Deus Ex Machina, it seemed pretty probable of a way to get Cato and Clove **off **of the mountain. But, rest assured, I won't cop out when it comes to the actual climax...

Reviews are greatly appreciated. :) And The Professor: Ah. I see you've figured out how to use the review feature. Also, since you're not feeling too well, consider this chapter your Get-Well-Soon present.


	16. First Light

A/N: **Yay! **This won the WIP Award! Thank you _so_ much to everyone who voted.

Here is my (little) gift to everyone. This chapter is insanely short, especially compared to all of the others, but I think it works. It's over a hundred words longer than "The Morphling" at any rate, so...

Enjoy.

* * *

_First __**Light**_

* * *

I clasp my hands over my mouth, but the sound has already escaped. The silence wears off and the frogs begin croaking again. _Stupid! _I tell myself. _What a stupid thing to do! _I'm frozen for a moment, waiting for the woods to fill with assailants. But then I remember that there's almost no one left.

The star-crossed lovers from District 12... it must have generated some attention in the Capitol. Why else would the Gamemakers have made this unprecedented change in the rules? _Both of us can win. _No, it isn't a _can _it is a _must. _I have to win. For the rebellion, yes, of course. But also for my family. For Cinna and Haymitch and Effie. For Edward. For _Rue. _

I look up at Edward inquisitively and draw in a short breath. "Edward, does that mean what I think it means?" I ask stupidly.

He smiles. "Yes, I think it does."

I'm about to ask more when something possesses me to throw my arms around his neck and fit my mouth to his— so I do. He fits his hand underneath my chin and holds me closer. For once in this games, I eagerly crush myself against him as his free hand twists in my hair, holding me securely to him. I finally close my eyes, and once I do, the passion in the kiss dies to simple mechanics. The emotion stirring in me ceases abruptly, because I've just had a disturbing thought— is he doing this for the cameras, or for me?

Of course, I've known Edward long enough to understand that he is, completely and one-hundred percent _mine, _and that he would never kiss me just for the sake of gaining attention from the sponsors. What do we need from them, anyways? I know the answer to that, too— matches, a flamethrower, or even the bow that I failed to steal back at the Cornucopia. I haven't gotten a gift yet, but I have a feeling they'll become more important as the Games wear on.

I realize that I froze without noticing when Edward pulls away. I look down, embarrassed, but he brings his hand back to my chin to make me look up. "Are you alright, Bella?"

I could lie and say that I'm fine, or I could tell the truth, therefore falling out of favor with the Capitol. Which could be dangerous; near the end of the Games, they do their best to make the favorite Tributes win. But I don't want to do either, and I don't want to remain silent, so I just shake my head and say, "Isabelle." For the cameras, of course. That's Cinna's name for me; it ought to win us some sympathy.

He isn't happy with this response. "Are you alright?"

"I'm... I'm tired, Edward," I say finally, and it sounds odd.

His brow furrows in confusion. "Tired?"

"Drained," I say quickly. "I feel like I could demolish a tank, physically, but mentally I'm exhausted. I haven't slept in over a week, and I'll never sleep again. Does it get any easier?"

Edward looks at me intently. "You need to hunt."

I feel full of liquid already, even a bit sloshy. I just drank a mountain lion and two deer. Shouldn't I be full be now? I swallow and feel the burn that proceeds gobs of venom. "We just hunted," I say.

He doesn't know how to respond to this either, so he just sighs and says, "I'm tired, too."

I pause for a few seconds. "So what are we going to do now?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Maybe we should wait until there aren't so many Tributes left."

"There are only eight," I say. "And Cato and Clove aren't just going to forget that we killed Marvel."

Edward shakes his head. "They didn't really care. They weren't expecting you to care, either. To care that Rue died, I mean. Clove thought you were being ridiculous."

"She thought that?"

He nods.

"While I was trying to kill her?"

"She... well, she didn't see you as much of a threat."

"What?" I ask, but it comes out as a hiss. He looks rather taken aback, like he's afraid I'm going to throw another tantrum. I glance down, ashamed of my outburst. Pushing a lock of fallen hair behind my ear, I give Edward a half smile and begin. "So who is there left to be afraid of? Melanie?"

"You mean Foxface?" asks Edward.

"I thought her name was Melanie."

"Well, it is, but she looks like a fox. And no, the boy from her District is dead. She's a mind reader. We had a bit of a... mental yelling session. At the interviews. And again when we were at the Cornucopia. She doesn't exactly like me."

"The only pair left is Cato and Clove, right?"

"Yeah, I think so. Unless I missed something while I was out."

"No... no, you didn't. Are they—"

"Together? Yes. They were together before the Reaping, they're even closer than before now."

"But you said they wouldn't try to avenge Marvel."

"They will _definitely_ try to avenge him. Not because they cared about him, but because we hurt their District pride."

"Right," I say. "We defeated them."

"No, Bella. If there is one thing you should know about our kind—" I note that he said _our _instead of _my _"— it's that there _is no _defeat until every last one of us is dead. We never grow old. We're never weary. And we never, ever forget."

There he goes with his mysterious, immortal, brooding teenager voice again. "What are you implying?"

He sighs. "This isn't over until everyone here is dead."

"With two exceptions," I say with a smile, expecting him to agree with me.

He shakes his head. "Not even then," he says. I swallow.

"Alright. So Cato and Clove," I begin.

"Thresh and Foxface," Edward interjects.

"And then there's two girls— from 8 and 9... how have _they _survived this long?" I ask, though not really to him.

He ponders this for a second. "Two random girls. I don't think they received very high test scores."

"Hm. Maybe they've been hiding. We don't need anything except blood."

"Or maybe they formed an alliance," says Edward quietly.

It's rare, something like this. Only two of the top eight Tributes are Careers. And _both _of the ones from my district are alive. Rarely does anyone from 12 make it out of the fight at the Cornucopia. I smile.

"What?" asks Edward. Sometimes I think it would be so much more convenient if he could just read my thoughts. I tell him about my realization reluctantly, because _he _has probably figured that out by now. He nods along, but I can't help but feel stupid.

After a long silence, he says, "I think we should stay away from the jungle." I nod, and he continues. "The open field, too. That's where Cato and Clove have set up camp. Or maybe they're moving, now that they're the only two left."

"I hate staying in one place for too long."

He gives a knowing smile. "You're newborn, of course you do."

I honestly wish he would stop calling me that. "Well, so are they," I defend. "You remember yesterday. I couldn't stop moving. I doubt they could, either. We aren't..." The words I was about to say horrify me.

"We aren't what?" Edward questions.

I close my eyes; they burn with tears that will never fall. "We aren't the only ones who lost someone."

"_Oh." _He sighs, crestfallen. I look back up at him.

"And _I'm _not the only one that lost someone." I feel awful, but what can be done? This is the Hunger Games, I likely don't have time for remorse.

I can't help but wonder what they Capitol will hurl at us next. Another pack of wolves, a herd of angry animals, or perhaps rocks at high velocities. Whatever is next, it will likely be big. I glance up at the sky. Will rocks be falling from it ten seconds from now? No, no, of course not. They want the audience to see anything important that happens. It must be far past midnight. Although the Capitol parties late into the night, I doubt the majority is awake now. Come morning, something will happen again.

Edward seems to catch on. "They're giving us a break," he observes. "We should be ready."

I am puzzled. "No more ready than usual."

He shakes his head. "An entire day without a fight. That's massive."

"Edward, there were two deaths yesterday. Isn't that enough?" I ask, although I already know the answer.

"Of course not," he says. "The more action, the better. It's the Games."

"So what do you think will happen tomorrow?" I inquire. I have particularly gruesome images in my mind; until he tells me what he actually thinks, they will stay there.

He shakes his head. "I honestly have no idea. But it will be big."

"We should do as much hunting as possible, then." I smile. "There's no need to worry about the environment, is there?"

"I don't know... there might be," he replies quietly. "They could lure all of the animals into one place and draw the Tributes together. Worse yet, we may run out of things to hunt. And then..."

"The only source of blood is in the Career's camp."

"I'm thinking worse."

I pause. "They eliminate every source of blood in the arena." And then it's game over for the newborns. Edward would be fine... until he had an encounter with someone other than me. "I hope you aren't giving them any ideas."

"I doubt it," he replies. "They've probably planned this down to the millisecond."

I blink. "Are you suggesting that the Capitol chooses the Victor?"

"No." He gives me the pouty look that means he is _not _going to elaborate. I sigh.

I glance up to the sky. There is a bit of light flooding in. Too little for humans to see, but I am not human. _And I'm not really a vampire, either, _a small, persistent voice adds. I combat it with the memory of the mountain lion. "It's almost dawn," I say, changing the subject. "When do you think it will—" _begin._

A piercing, female scream flies through the air, gradually deteriorating into a feral shriek and a hiss. "_Help me!" _someone unfamiliar yells, hoarse. "Help, me, _please!" _Her final word trails off into another cry, the only proof that the screamer is still alive. She wails again.

I tilt my head to the side and hear the quickened footfalls that follow.

"Bella," says Edward, anxious. "I think it begins now."


	17. The Sunrise

_A/N: Edward. Doesn't. Die. Just to let you know, I don't want you to hate me when you get to a certain scene._

_Also, I turn to melodrama a little later on. But it does have a purpose, believe it or not. And I got past writer's block! That's good, isn't it? I might actually be updating regularly sometime soon._

* * *

_The __**Sunrise**_

* * *

It isn't dawn; not yet. But the Games wait for no one.

I detect her scent only a moment before she, the girl from District 7, comes into sight. She is flying at full speed. Edward and I should have run then; before we saw the wall of fire descending upon us. The girl from 8 is right behind her, tearing at her clothes and trying to extinguish the flames. They already lick at her hair and face. There is nothing we can do to help.

Flames lick up the trees and into their branches. My first instinct is to scramble away as fast as possible. I am not as fast as Edward. He is ahead of me by at least ten or twenty yards. I cough against the smoke and break into a sprint. I am not fast enough. Edward, still faster than I, snatches my hand and starts dragging me forward. "Come on!" he shouts, still moving much faster than I. I push off, bounding forward again. He catches the message and does the same.

The world morphs before my eyes. Trees become bonfires; snow becomes water and then steam. What's left of it condenses on my skin and in my eyes, half-blinding me. There are disadvantages to being cold. The ground flies underneath me, but we are still not quick enough. Flames flare along the ground. Are they driving us somewhere, or is this just for action? I wonder in a brief second. Another trail of fire makes a beeline for us, catching alight on dry grass. It moves too quickly, the angles are too sharp. This is no forest fire.

We come to a gorge, a deep crack of a river in the earth. It's lower on this side than the other side. We have to jump across. The girl from 7 bounds ahead of us and over it, but a pile of burning branches crackle and fall into our path. I halt, stuck between the wall of fire and the blockade. I could jump across, but up _and _across? The branches block my line of sight. How far is it to the other side? Edward leaps across without hesitation. The girl from 8, no longer on fire, is next.

Every sense I have goes into overdrive. Left behind. I scream as a cloud of embers sprays from above. The wall of fire comes closer, and my rag of a shirt catches. Shrieking, I bat at the heat. I can't hear over the roar of flames, and I certainly can't smell. There's too much smoke in the air for that. I don't need air, but I still gag. _How do I get across? _I see that the crack isn't quite as wide a little while down, but it's through the haze of flames.

Another branch falls in my direction. React or die. I grab the nearest and largest piece of wood I can and charge through the fire. The condensation evaporates into steam, and it scalds. My vision turns completely red, but I keep running until the crack is narrow enough for my liking. Edward shouts in protest from where he is. Branches and falling fire limit me. I don't have a choice. I hurdle over the fire and onto land. Not high enough. When my feet catch land, I let myself fall to meet it and roll.

I return to standing. The fire is gone. I glance around. My eyes sting, and their vision is still blurred. Edward finds me a second later. "Don't you _ever _do that again," he says under his breath. More branches are catching fire and falling. I grab his hand and run.

This is no campfire gone out of control, no accidental occurrence. We're immune to cold, the only reason for fire is death. No one has died since yesterday. There have been no cannons. The flames have unnatural uniformity, unnatural height; they are human-made, machine-made, Gamemaker-made. These are the vampiric Hunger Games, promised to be the most exciting one yet. The Capitol audience must be getting bored. These Games are verging on dullness. This is the one thing they must never, ever do.

It isn't hard to guess the Gamemakers' motivations. There aren't very many of us left, and this arena is vast. We are dispersed too thinly throughout the massive arena. The fire is designed to bring us closer together. To flush us out. It may not be the most original device, like the wolves and the dogs and the Mutts. But it is very, very, very effective. The one way to kill vampires, hurled right into our faces.

More embers, more flames... there is nothing green here. It's orange and red and swirling. I am moving, the world is moving, and suddenly I am beyond dizzy. There are too many sounds, too many smells, and, without sight, I can't process it all. Edward appears to be struggling, too. We have perfect equilibrium... until my senses start to contradict each other. My ears aren't working properly; there is a low rumbling in them that I must be imagining.

The flames are hot, and in a matter of minutes, my throat and nose are burning. The coughing begins soon afterwards. I do not need to breathe, but I also do not need or want burning embers and red-hot ash in my throat. My lungs feel like they are being cooked. The distress turns to discomfort, so I stop breathing altogether. But I have to cough, the searing pain is all-too much. I manage to take cover under a stone outcropping for a moment, my lungs still trying hard to expel the fire. But the distress becomes a burning pain.

Edward looks worse off than I do— or at least worse off than I feel. His hair is disheveled and slightly charred. I lift up a few strands of my own and it's the same. I wonder if it will ever grow back, but I don't have much time for speculation. We need to keep moving, it's only common sense. The Gamemakers will most definitely not give us a break. In their eyes, we don't need one. _One minute, _I tell myself. _You get one minute to rest._

My muscles quiver with the fury— the same unfamiliar "balance" of physical alertness and overexertion— and my brain is clouded with the use. I take the time to order my thoughts. _Which direction are we moving in? _We are moving towards the jungle. The area is fairly unexplored, and the Gamemakers wouldn't want their prized and deadly area of the arena to go unused. _How are we going to make it through the forest? _The same way we did last time, I suppose, unless they reprogram the Mutts to not attack us. _What are we going to do when we get there? _Half of the arena is the rainforest area. Surely danger beyond danger lurks there. It would make a nice finale to the Games. We will have to avoid the others at all costs. _How can we avoid the others if it means defying the Gamemakers or even the Capitol? _We will survive, we will overcome them. We will stay out of the second bloodbath at all costs. My minute is over, but I can't bring myself back out into the forest. "Bella, come on, we have to move," Edward finally says. I can't respond through the constant coughing, so I just nod and force myself back into the fire.

The searing pain returns immediately. The entire landscape is swathed in fire. I am still light-headed, but it is better than it was a moment ago. The mountains are on the horizon. Beyond that, the jungle. My panic rises. How am I supposed to make it through again?

There is another scream.

The girl from 8 comes rushing by us, shrieking. The flames on her have relit. She wasn't quick enough. She never had a chance. Now she is running so fast that I would expect the fire to be smothered. This is Capitol enhanced fire, and it won't relinquish itself until she dies. Her already scalded face is now on fire. It spreads to her hair, to her back, down her legs. I freeze in place. "Bella, come on," says Edward. I cannot. She runs by, a streak of flame. "There's nothing we can do, now come on!"

She lets out a strangled sob, and is silent as it engulfs her completely, as though she is finally giving in. There is a sound that I have never heard and I hope I never hear again, the whoosh of fire now on a hearth, only louder and gut-wrenching. She cries out twice. The flames flare, burning so bright that I look away. Then there is silence and I hear a cannon. She turns to ash.

I don't scream, I swallow, and then run. Edward is waiting for me several years ahead, and I'm nauseous again. It's strange, to feel so _physically ill _when you know that illness is impossible.

Is it? Nothing makes sense anymore.

Where are we going? The jungle, that's where they're driving us. I take the time to sniff the air, and it's the entire forest. They're burning down the entire forest. Cato, Clove, the girl from 5, and Thresh are all coming. And then I start thinking of the fight that will follow. The flames won't burn indefinitely, but the battle that could take place afterwards... it suddenly occurs to me that we _could _circle back around, _away _from everyone else.

Still running at maximum velocity, I look over my shoulder. There are occasional gaps in the wall of fire. _If _I timed it right, _if _a gab was big enough for both of us, _if _the Gamemakers didn't decided to kill me for the fun of it, _if _the odds are ever in our favor... we could make it through. _To where? _a small voice in my head chides. _The only thing beyond the flames is ash. _Turning back to forwards, I swallow.

The low rumbling grows louder. I can't ponder it for long, because the fire is growing hotter. Or maybe I'm tiring of the heat. The girl from 7 is still ahead of us. She whirls around to see us, and to see the empty spot where her fellow Tribute should have been. Her eyes widen in shock. I'm the first person she sees after realizing what happened. Too late, I understand what she's about to do...

"_No!" _Edward shouts at her, but it's too late. I'm running forward, she's running towards me, and we collide midair, she knocking me to the ground with a painful _thud._ The fire is getting closer, and an enraged Edward is shouting at her to get _off _of me.

She rips at my hair, snaps at my neck, and pounds her fists into me. She isn't trying to kill me, she just wants me to feel pain. I bat her away, I kick at her, but she doesn't move and the fire just comes _closer. _I hear the sounds of footsteps. "Get _off! _Get _off! _Get OFF!" I yell at her. "They're coming!" She is beyond coherency, even when Edward tries to rip her off of me. She locks her iron grip around my arm, still hitting me in the face. The flames are dangerously close. Edward gives a final tug. The girl doesn't let go of her grip on me. I cry out. There is a crack and a snap. The world turns red, and everything is muffled and slow for a moment, like I'm watching the world from a vat of corn syrup.

Then there is a fierce pain in my shoulder and I wonder briefly if I've caught on fire. I'm lying on the ground, unable to move, and I see Edward shouting at the girl who attacked me, but I can't hear him. She gasps, and her expression of anger turns to one of panic. She flees, and he considers going after her. Experimentally, I blink, and the pain erupts again.

Sitting upright, I glance down at where my arm should be, and there's nothing but a granite-like stump. My arm is lying a few feet away.

That's when I scream.

The flames are too close to me right now, and I'll be a whole lot more flammable if I don't get this thing... reattached. I take the time to shudder. Edward reaches down and grabs my good hand, helping me to my feet. "Grab your arm and go," he hisses into my ear. Possibly the funniest statement I have ever heard. Still, I don't laugh; I obey.

I feel strangely clumsy and unbalanced. I constantly want to fall over to the side where my good arm is, and when I try to compensate I almost fall over. My feet are still flying beneath me, so fast that I nearly trip over myself. The world is spinning from the endless embers and flame.

Finally we reach the mountain range. I don't even pause. I know we are going towards what could very easily be our doom, but what choice do we have? If it's certain doom versus probable doom, I'll gladly take the latter.

I keep plunging forwards, now in the middle of the mountain range. There is a strange vibration here, almost certainly computer generated. It isn't my imagination. The sound makes what's left of my equilibrium even worse. I keep moving. The fire accelerates again. I dodge it. I think back to when this first began, only a few minutes ago. Ten minutes? Twenty? The audience doesn't want to watch us dodging flames until the end of the Games. Something is coming.

My foot hits a rock the wrong way. Edward is caught off-guard. He can't catch me in time. I stumble forwards, flailing in midair. Trying to regain control, I push forwards, only to make it worse. The ground rushes at me. The jagged edges of the rocks do nothing to me. It's the impact that makes me hurt, and, despite my efforts, I give a soft yelp. Panting heavily and on my hands and knees, I begin to notice something. The rumbling I heard earlier is growing louder. And louder. I would think it is my imagination, but the ground is vibrating. Not just a tremor, like an earthquake.

_Earthquake? _It wouldn't do anything to our kind. Edward notices the danger a second before I do, his gaze darting to the mountain peak. I look up towards the sky. The mountains are collapsing. And they're bringing fire with them.

In all honesty, I wish I could appreciate the beauty of the sight. Flaming mountains are falling apart and turning to rubble, boulders big enough to crush tanks rushing at us at astounding speeds. The world is a violent, vivid red, and the sky is flushed with orange from the coming day. Gorgeous. Gruesome. Deadly. All rolled into one.

It isn't even the Quarter Quell. The Gamemakers are going to have a difficult time outdoing themselves next year.

Then I am brought back to reality.

Edward drags me to my feet, but he starts running first. We have to move, and now. The flames are coming closer. From behind. From above. From everywhere. I nearly fall over again, and Edward pulls us to a halt.

"Give me your arm," he says.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

I lift it up. The sensation is eerie, but I don't linger on it. Every instinct I have— human, vampire, Capitol programed— is _screaming _for me to run.

"Lick it," he says quietly.

"_What?!" _Like a _postage stamp?! _

"Yes. Lick it."

Sighing, I do as he says. "Now what?" I ask quickly. The fire is getting closer.

"We have about ten seconds until our survival is impossible," he says. "Relax."

I hate you. Well, actually I love you, and my existence would be nothing without you, but still. I _hate _you.

"Just put it where it's supposed to go."

I do, looking down at the broken piece of me. I am mesmerized as a thousand microscopic threads _instantly _sew themselves back together. Fiery pain erupts again, but afterwards there is some relief. The venom _does _sting. But it also heals. "Thank you," I reply. He nods. "Can I just leave it, or—"

"Don't move it." Edward glances back at the world around us. "Okay, let's go." We start moving away. "No, seriously, _go!" _

He yanks on my good arm so hard that I am afraid it will fall out, too. We run, and we continue running. I breathe heavily. I don't need the air, I tell myself, but my lungs don't believe it. I am beginning to shake again when the fire comes closer. Edward is running at blinding speed, but I am stronger. He makes me move faster, and I make the bounds have more strength. We are moving swiftly. Not swift enough.

The fire enters the valley. I think I am prepared for it, but I am not. Because that's when the first fireball whizzes by me, missing my face by inches. It explodes off in the distance with enough power to shatter a bunker. The force of the blast nearly knocks me off my feet.

The Game has taken a new twist. The fire was only to start this. The collapsing mountains were only a spectacle. The fireballs. This is the real show. I hear another hiss. I am more prepared for this one, but it still shocks me. The blast is hard for me but... Edward. He is so much older, not as strong, and... _no! _

He is falling behind me, still recovering from the _first _ball. Before a third one hits, I frantically drag him in front of me. The explosion is where he was standing not a moment early. The blast knocked the wind out of him, and he can't say anything. He just nods to me and we continue pressing forwards. I glance behind me. The rocks are sealing the path behind us. The message is clear. We are not allowed to go back. Fire makes it all the more threatening.

An explosion in the distance causes a scream— the girl who attacked me— shortly followed by a cannon. Or possibly another explosion, I can't tell. The smell of incense makes me lose hope.

More fireballs fly at us. To remain still is to die. Time looses meaning now. All that matters is survival. The vague plans disappear from my mind. Another bomb goes off, the fiery aftershock nearly envelops me. Move or die. Again. And again. My vision turns faintly crimson again. Whether it is the fire or the fury I can't tell. I am coughing again. The heat is too much. There is not time to rest, only to survive.

Whatever is left of my humanity disappears in those moments. I zigzag, leap, and dive to avoid the fireballs. Each one is only the size of an orange, but they pack insane amounts of power. _This _is why the Capitol won the war. Every sense I have plunges into overdrive, and I am so light-headed that my vision is blotted with blood-red. The need to survive takes over. There's no time to judge if a move is the correct answer or the one that leads to death. When there's a hiss, I act or die.

Just like the Mutts, I tell myself. This will end eventually. _One way or another, _my mind adds darkly. That's when I begin thinking about what is next. I've been fairly good in life. Edward doesn't think we have souls. Nonexistence is preferable to Hell. And, if that's where I am going, I doubt it would be very different from the blazing pit of fire I am in right now. But, of course, if it _is _worse... Heaven _help _me, I'm going to die.

I don't know how long we scramble through the valley, dodging fireballs. My hazy mind wonders if it's long enough for Rome to be built. It wasn't built in a day, it was built in a few thousand years. That's a fairly apt description.

Finally, the attacks begin to abate. I still hear shrieks and yelps in the distance. But this battle is almost over. The smoke is so thick that I doubt human eyes could see. It could literally be cut with a knife. We are nearing the jungle. I can see it on the horizon. I start gagging from the haze again. The smoke finally becomes so intense that my sense of smell vanishes entirely. My vampire mind has cut it off, deemed it useless. The void following is disturbing, and it catches me off-guard for a fraction of a second. Fascinated, I begin to slow down, just on the edge of a twenty-foot drop that separates us from the forest floor— or, as I learned last time, more likely the treetops. I marvel at the sensation of not being able to smell, to taste the air around me. Then the hissing registers.

It's on my side this time, and I dive for the ground. Edward whirls around to stare straight at the fireball, and time seems to slow down. I shout his name, my voice echoing onward. This moment is frozen. This has to be happening to someone else, not to me. Not to Edward. Still in midair, my hands fumble to get him in my grasp. I drag him downwards. It _whooses _by me, but Edward is higher in the air than I am. He moves downward, it moves towards him. It skids across his back, just grazing the skin, just kissing it. He catches fire. And then it explodes.

It is just far enough away. Still shrieking, I drag us down. We tumble downwards through the air, off of the precipice and towards the trees below. The aftershock misses him by inches, but it still singes his hair. We continue through what I thought was the ground and through the branches until we hit the forest floor. The second he hits the ground he starts rolling, trying desperately to stop the flames.

On fire, he comes very close to screaming. The groans he makes are loud, yes, but I have to let him have that dignity of not screaming. And for a moment, he yells. He doesn't scream. He doesn't. He yells. The flames won't smother. I remember what happened to the girl from 8. Horrified, I watch. I start to approach him, maybe I can help, but he shoots me a desperate look. _There's nothing we can do, _his voice says again in my head.

Is it possible for a vampire to hyperventilate? No. Is it possible for whatever I am to hyperventilate? I am coming very close to it. There is nothing I can do, nothing I can do, just sit back and hope... and scream inside my skull while I watch him suffer.

_I'm sorry you have to see this, I think at the sky. I'm sorry you have to see how I've failed. Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, Emmett Esme... and... _I swallow. ..._and Carlisle?_ _I don't know where _you _are right now, I don't know if you can hear me. For that matter, I don't know where _any _of you are right now, and I know that _none _of you can hear me, but... I am sorry, I am so, so sorry._ With every whimper Edward makes, my self-loathing and shame double until I have no room to feel pity for myself. He's going to die. I have to watch him turn to ash and there's nothing I can do. I look skyward. "I'm sorry," I whisper up at my family.

He cries out again. I wince. It's as though I'm the one who's fighting fire. I am burning. "I'm sorry," I say again, this time louder.

I bury my head in my hands, trying to block out the world, trying to block out the sounds of suffering. It's my fault, I couldn't save him. I didn't hear it in time. I could have saved him. A dry sob shudders up from my chest, and I curl against the thick bark of a tree. Something solid to shield myself with. As if it could protect me.

Maybe, if I plead hard enough, the sky, and the ethereal, empyrean sunrise can bring him back to me. "I'm sorry!" I scream at the sky. "Anything! I'll do anything..." I plead as another sob shakes my entire body. "Not him! Please, not him... _please!" _The last word deteriorates into a sob. No longer on the verge of a nervous breakdown, my vision blurs until the world is dim and finally black. I strain for unconsciousness, but it doesn't come. And it never will. I'll always be trapped in this, with pain digging its way into me. My heart is already dead, but, without him, it is rotting. "Please, please, please," I chant at the clouds, daring to look upwards. _I know you're up there. _"Don't take him. Don't take him, too. Do whatever you want with me, I don't care... just... just kill me. Kill me. Not..." I choke on my own words. "Not him."

There is no response, and, abruptly, I am more enraged than I have ever been. Darting to my feet and shaking a finger at the sky, I proclaim, "If you take him, the world will never, never be right again! We will hate you forever, and I won't stop. I won't stop, until..." _Until I turn to ash, too, _but the words fail me. "Do you want to risk losing?!" _Him, _I was going to add, but I am sobbing again. I cannot speak. I lean against the tree, hiding my face.

Silence.

Has he died? I can hardly bear to move. There is no need to confirm what I already know. _But what if he _is _alive? _I wonder. I turn away from the tree to glance at him.

Edward lies face-down on the ground. He doesn't move, he doesn't breathe, and he most certainly does not burn. He just lies there. But he is alive, and my breathing starts to come naturally again. I am motionless, still staring at him. My eyes are blurry with tears that will never fall.

I don't dare move. Surely he is a mirage, ready to vanish at any second. He is alive, I know it, but...

But he was dying! He was in anguish, the Capitol-made fire about to kill him. He couldn't smother the flames. I saw what it did to that girl; they don't smother, they don't relinquish. Once you catch, you die. So how is he alive? Is it a delayed reaction? Will he vanish soon, or can I allow myself to believe it?

Vaguely, it occurs to me that my pleading might stopped the fire. I may have touched the Gamemakers hearts. Perhaps the Capitol enjoys the Star-Crossed Lovers from District 12 too much to lose him now. I might have just saved his life.

I probably did.

* * *

_A/N: This is the oddest place I have ever ended a chapter. But it was the only appropriate place I could find. _

_Sorry if this chapter was horrible. I personally think it was, but I've been working on it for weeks, so..._


	18. After Fire

A/N: I realized yesterday that it's been a month since I updated, so I quickly finished/edited this. I'll more than likely start updating regularly again soon. I didn't exactly plan the games... but I did plan the rest of the series! The overall plot twists, etc... *headdesk* I should really plan things more carefully next time.

In my defense, I was trying to figure out my headcanon for vampire biology. Then I realized that every fanfic out there says something different. Then I remembered that this is _my _fanfic, so I can do whatever the flipping flop I want. So, yeah... this chapter is a bit of a filler. An extraordinarily long filler. But extraordinarly necessary filler. Whatever, though, it's fluff, and I felt like we needed fluff after all of the angst/wangst/action in the chapters previous.

* * *

_After __**Fire**_

* * *

For a moment, Edward is completely motionless.

Then he starts laughing, manically, humorlessly, in between gasps of, "I'm alive." Then he groans as if the action of laughing is painful, and he is still. He manages to push himself onto his back. His breathing is heavy and labored, like he's just resurfacing from days underwater. I say nothing. I only watch, desperately wishing I could do something to help.

On my hands and knees, I crawl towards him. I can't feel relief, not yet. "Are you alright?" I ask hesitantly.

"Bella," he says quietly. "For once, no. I am most definitely not alright."

"Can you sit up?" I ask.

"Mayb— agh!" He tries, and he falls backwards. Then he sighs. "No. No, I cannot sit up."

A reluctant gob of venom slides down my throat. "Why not?" I ask quickly. I know. I don't want to...

Still trying to sit up, he pauses, bringing a hesitant hand around to his back. He winces and collapses completely. He grimaces, then gives a weak, not to mention _late, _"Ow."

"What happened?"

He glares at me and I would blush if I could. Then he softens his expression a little. "Help me up, Bella?" I swallow, then nod. Wrapping my arms around his shoulder, I try to help him stand. It isn't easy work, because despite his overly calm demeanor, he is in anguish. I can tell from the labored breathing and his expression and... everything. So I settle for helping him sit upright.

"What hurts?" I ask stupidly. I know the answer... I don't want to...

He flinches again, and I have to catch him to keep him from falling backwards again. "My back..." he manages. I swallow, then sigh. I know next to nothing about vampire healing.

Closing my eyes, I start to formulate a plan. "Okay." I blink. "We're just going to have to take a look at it, and I'll see what I can do... um..." I start thinking about burns in humans. The first thing to do is ice the injury. No, the first thing to do is _look _at the injury. "Let me take a look."

Edward winces, and I do the same.

"Well, then, I guess we just have to..."

"No, you're right," he says. "We have to look at it. But... sorry. Dislocation is a lot easier to treat than burns."

"Well..." I pause to swallow. I am now convinced that it _is _possible for me to feel nausea; I've felt it enough times these past few days. "Does it _ever _heal? _Can _it heal?"

He tries to turn to me, but the action makes him hiss. "Not... not by itself."

"What do you mean, 'by itself?'"

"I mean... yes, it _can _heal, but it _needs—" _He draws out the word, trying not to cry out. "Chemicals. Sometimes natural remedies can help with the pain, but we didn't even know that it was possible until a decade or two ago. Even then, there's a limit to what it can do. It might help if we had a bloodstream." Edward sighs.

Blood. Alright. Blood. That's a good idea. I remember how hunting makes them... makes _us _stronger. Then I remember the bitter, metallic, chemical taste to the Capitol synthesized blood. Could it be on purpose? Is it for healing purposes? "I'm sorry, Edward, but I still need to take a look."

"Do you?"

"Yes," I say, a little too firmly. Perhaps I can convince him that I know what to do. Still, he must know that I am completely lost.

Something about the prospect of taking his shirt off makes me uncomfortable. It isn't like I haven't seen him without it before, and it isn't like there's much left of the filthy rag, anyway, but it's the fact that I am on camera. Swallowing, I move behind him and, eyes closed, inch the ragged cloth off of him. He cries out once. I lose my progress, dropping it. "No, Bella. Just... just do it quickly."

Very carefully, I attempt it again. I can hear him grinding his teeth, but somehow Edward remains silent. Once it is gone, I can see the scald marks. The fire has seared scars onto his skin, the flame trails wrapping around to his ribcage, like hands ready to crush him. I can see that they've seared straight through skin and muscle and almost down to the bone. Streaks of pure white are already forming. The stench of burning incense is in the air. Worst of all are the deep cracks forming, still creaking and widening, overflowing with ash and oozing venom.

I must have gasped or flinched or done something else to tip him off, because Edward notices my discomfort. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the reek, I try to capture the demeanor of a doctor handling a particularly bad case. It is not an easy task. "Well," I begin. The word trails off, lost.

"That bad?" he asks stiffly, and I wince like it's me who's in agony.

"So-so," I reply, shrugging like it's no big deal. "You should have seen me after the wolf Mutts." I refrain from telling him that I began healing immediately after I removed the poison. "First thing is to, um, clean it..." Probably. There is a slight hissing sound, like more venom escaping, and it makes me wince. "Okay, Edward, I'm sorry, I really hate to ask you this, but do you know _anything _about vampire healing?"

He shakes his head, but his expression afterwards tells me he regrets it.

"We're going to have to experiment a bit," I admit.

Edward's eyes widen. "No! No, really, _no. _Any damage you do is more than likely permanent."

"Well... maybe we should get you to the river. It's close by, we could rinse out the ash." A dozen horrible thoughts occur to me, but I push them to the back of my mind. "You're going to have to stand." But how can he, without my help? Half of those muscles have been burned away by the fire. Edward just nods and I practically drag him to his feet.

"Bella, you really should just—"

"No!" I say, too loudly. "I'm not going to leave you."

"But you _should."_

"How would that benefit either of us? I mean, we've already established that we can't be apart. It always ends up with us nearly dead."

_"Everything _leads to us being nearly dead, Bella. Remember Victoria?"

Edward, really. We're on TV right now, and I don't think the Capitol would appreciate us talking about the "accident" that brought us here. So I nod.

"Maybe we're just not right for each other. Maybe we should just—"

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," I tell him.

He smiles sadly. "Yeah. But really. You have to admit, we've had some pretty bad luck." Between sadistic vampires, angry Volturi, bad visions, newborn armies, and Reapings, I have to agree with him.

"Hmm," I say. "Maybe it's not us, it's just this jungle. Bad things happen here."

He tries to hold back a half-hearted chuckle but it's already coming out. Edward hisses in pain, breathing through his teeth, and finally just says, "We should get going before our luck runs out."

* * *

The journey to the river is a nightmare. Edward can hardly stand, much less walk, and I half-lead, half-carry him. I'm paranoid about attackers, knowing that every Tribute left alive is in these woods. There is an occasional scent of someone else. Several times Edward nearly collapses, and I've never known a vampire to be so weak. A human with a cigarette lighter could probably kill him now. Not that I would let them within a kilometer of him, but still.

I freeze when we come to the place where the Mutts attacked us last time. Lying in a little rivet in the ground, about thirty yards from here, is exactly what I've wanted to find. She must have tossed it, but I can't imagine why she didn't try using it. The insanity must have been too much, or maybe she was trying to throw it at them. Better yet, she was trying to lure them away. But the fiery liquid still ended her life. Seeing it now, I can't believe that I forgot it. In all fairness, I was rather preoccupied with finding Edward. Glimmer's bow and a quiver of arrows is just within my reach. Eleven of them are left. "What?" asks Edward. I point in its general direction and he has to squint. "I guess this place isn't so unlucky after all."

"Maybe it just has a lot of luck. Good luck _and _bad luck," I reply, smiling.

"An entire time-space continuum of luck," he says with a forced smile.

"Wow, Alice would have trouble seeing anything here."

He laughs again, and when it makes him yelp I feel awful, though he assures me that it wasn't my fault. Yes, this place has horrid luck. I am never funny, absolutely _never _funny. Even my mother told me that. And now, the one time when I need to keep my mouth shut, I make him laugh until his sides split. Literally...

"Do you think you can stand on your own?" The arrows are far out, or at least for someone who's limping, and they're in the opposite direction of the river. I could get there in a second, however, so it makes sense to leave him for a minute. Assuming he won't fall over.

Edward shakes his head, and finally he decides to lean against a tree. I fly towards the arrows at top speed. Now up closer, I inspect them. I probably could have seen it from where I was— for that matter, I know I could— but I was too busy helping Edward. I smirk when I realize that these can be set to both ignite and explode on contact. I fumble with it for a second, but then wonder if it can break through vampire skin. Afterwards, I race back to where he was standing.

The journey from there is even worse. I feel stronger, knowing that I can defend us, but Edward is in agony. What little color he has in his face has drained away leaving him a deathly white; the bruises under his eyes black eyes surround his eyelids, making them look sunken and decayed. If he was motionless, he could easily be dead.

But he isn't still. He flinches with every move, and is so weak that I am half-carrying him. I try to stay emotionless for the cameras. Even if it isn't in the form of sponsor gifts, favor with the audience can be the difference between life and death.

* * *

We finally reach the river. In the clearing, I can see that the sun is trapped behind thin clouds, occasionally passing over and letting light through. The wind is heavy when we are not protected by trees.

I lower him carefully onto the riverbed before dangling my own bare foot into the water. It is not cold, but it is certainly chilled compared to the fire. Here, I can try to clean the wounds. If that's what I am supposed to do. "Are you alright?" I ask, though I instantly regret it.

"I am not going to lie to you," he says, gasping. "No, I am _not_ alright."

I swallow hard and then nod, eyes on the ground. I don't want to make him talk more than he has to. The fact that he breathes and moves and speaks is one of the only indications that he is alive at all. Again, I inspect the burns, and they're worse than before. The ash has hardened into what looks like blackened stone, melded together from the pus-like gobs of venom. The cracks have widened, much to my horror, and are seeping with the clotted paste. "I'm sorry, this is going to hurt," I mumble. He cringes for a moment, but then relaxes as I press my finger against the ash. Yes, yes this has to be removed, it's hardening too much. Like a wedge in his already chipping skin, it's hardening and making it worse than it already is.

It takes a few tries to get him into the water, and I hear him clamp his jaw shut once he's finally in. "It stings," he finally admits. "Even more." I nod and promise that I'll be as gentle as possible.

"Gentle" turns out to be very difficult; the ash is almost impossible to remove. It is insisting on staying where it is, and forcing a rock underneath and up seems to be the only way. Still, every time I try, he has to restrain himself from screaming. I finally resort to scrubbing it loose relentlessly. By the time I am done, the water is white with ash and black with soot.

"Okay, I think that's enough for today," I sigh after a fruitless hour. The sun has raised to mid-sky, and the breeze brings in several new, fused scents. I realize with dismay that we need to hide. I gaze off into the jungle and at the ruined temple in the background. Is it just for decor, or could we take shelter there? This being the Hunger Games, I know the answer.

Taking Edward's hand, I manage to lift him out of the water and onto land. He heaves a sigh of relief and looks genuinely pain-free until I start drying off the burns. I try to convince myself that they look better, but in all honesty they don't. I can see that some places, that I had previously considered unscathed, have been reduced to blackened rubble, held on by thin threads. Some of his muscles are so scalded that I doubt they can heal, even with Capitol medicine. _We can't go hunting, _I realize. _Even an animal could make it worse. _Besides which, most of the animals in this jungle are designed to kill vampires.

"Alright. Now we've cleaned it." Except for the seeping globs of clotted venom and still engrained masses of ash. But I must admit, it does look a little better.

I've been in the hospital dozens of times thanks to my clumsiness and bad luck. I pick through my dim, human memories for conversations I had with doctors. All vampires were once human. Some things must still apply. If this were a human burn, the doctor would want to apply Betadine or something else to ward off infection. "Um..." I think about how to phrase this. "Can vampire wounds get infected?"

He pauses.

"Do you think?" I don't need anything definitive, just a guess to see if cleansing it further is a waste of time or something that could help.

"... yes," he finally says. "Not in the same way that human ones do, but bacteria can make the healing process slower and more painful. I think."

Alright, my first useful piece of information. Assuming that this area is crawling with infectors, cleaning is a good idea, preferably regularly. This is the same river where we skipped stones with... with Rue. She gave him leaves and and said that they helped with the poison from the animals. If it can do something that strong, it's almost certainly antibacterial. I tell him that I'll be back in a minute. It isn't hard to find a few bushes full of them.

I crumple the leaves and dunk them in the water. Edward eyes me curiously. "Those are the..."

"Yes," I tell him. He's about to protest, and I honestly don't blame him, so I press a leaf into the wounds only a half-second later. He cries out briefly. Then he sighs, and I withdraw it. The herb has absorbed a fair amount of venom, but more of it is seeping out to replace it. Still, some of the hardened ash is gone. And that is probably a good thing.

Afterwards I repeat the process with most of his burns, and by then the pile of leaves is gone. I return to the area with the bushes and then flit back to Edward for the rest of the injuries. The slightly-charred areas look a bit better when they aren't covered in soot, but the acrid scent of incense is still cutting through the air. I bite my lip.

I search through the herb-covered hill for something familiar. Flowers, weeds, flowers, the leaves that Rue gave me, nightlock, mint, more leaves, nightlock... _mint! _Mint! Mint! Mint! I snatch a few leaves of it before crumpling and dunking them as well. Then I do the same thing with them that I did with the other leaves. Curiously, I plop one of them in my mouth; I've wondered how human food would taste. I know that we're incapable of digestion, but mint leaves aren't, well, meant to be swallowed. It's rather sour and bitter, but it still has the refreshing aftertaste. I spit it into the river when I'm done with it.

After three applications of herbs and what looks like a truckload of pus-like venom/goo, the wounds are starting to look better.

"Well, it looks quite a bit better now," I tell Edward honestly. "But I'm going to use what's left of your shirt to keep it wrapped up, okay?" He gives me a half-hearted smile while I start tying the filthy rag around him.

"What's next, Dr. Swan?" he jokes. I know it isn't meant to be taken seriously, but I'm still somewhat insulted. Eyes still down, I tell him,

"Edward, I know we aren't married, but I think we've been through enough together for me to be a Cullen." I finish tying the knot and then tighten it. "So that's Dr. _Cullen _to you, patient." I look back up at him.

If I was somewhat insulted, he is devastated.

"What?" I demand teasingly.

He glances down at the ground.

"What?" I ask more seriously this time, not seeing how the humor has left so suddenly.

Edward shakes his head. "It's nothing." He sighs, his expression one of something akin to nostalgia. We were only joshing, and the appearance is so out of place in this conversation that it takes me a moment of thorough examination to recognize it. When I do, it hits me like a battering ram. Grief.

Oh. _Stupid, _I chide myself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. _"Edward, no, no, I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't mean anything, it's just... almost a century, Bella. Almost a century, and... and I'll never forget a second of it. And then I've had six months to try to move on. It's painful, and—"

"And our kind forgive even slower than we forget," I finish for him. I glare up at the sky, thinking of Rue. "I'm sorry, Edward, I just... I don't..."

"You don't remember." He swallows. "You were human, you don't remember."

And I'm horrified when I realize that I don't. Jacob, Renee, Charlie... Seth, Leah, Sam... Paul, Quil, Embry... Mike Newton, Jessica, Angela... Lauren, Eric... and yes, Carlisle... I can't remember them. Who they were, certainly. But their faces, their voices... it's lost to me. Maybe if I saw them again, I could. But not now. I gulp. "Really. I didn't mean anything."

"I know you didn't. But you just brought back some... bad memories."

I nod and then decide to change the subject. "Do you think we could make it over there?" I point in the direction of the temple. Edward has to squint, and when he sees he shakes his head. Another breeze blows the scents of the others towards us.

"Hiding isn't..." He winces. "Isn't going to make it any better."

"You feel the wind, it will mask the scents."

"Enough?"

"Maybe..." I take a quick whiff. "And the air in that direction smells a lot like the Mutts. They won't want to get anywhere near it, if they've seen what they can do."

_"We _shouldn't get anywhere near it, either."

I hold up my bow triumphantly. "I could—"

"You have eleven arrows. There are thousands of them," he counters.

"Yes, but..." I could tell him my theory about the Capitol liking us, but I doubt it would gain us any favors. "I'll carry you. Just trust me on this."

He complains a bit more, but after he's off his feet he stops talking. At first I think he has agreed with me, but then I realize that he is struggling not to cry out with every step I take. After that I push myself to top speed, disregarding Edward's obvious protest. Up close, it looks more like a series of caves than a ruined temple. It's obviously manufactured, but it is just that— ruined. I could probably find a shelter somewhere further away from the clearing and the river, but Edward can't take much more of this.

I find what looks like a suitable cave and then let him rest inside. After camouflaging the entrance to the best of my ability, I feel a bit better. I know it's useless, with our tracking senses, but something about it brings an aura of security. I stand back and look at my work. An animal _might _pass by it. A human would spot it instantly. A vampire would laugh. Still, I'm proud of it. Well, somewhat.

I step inside. Edward looks almost like he's sleeping. His eyes are out of focus and barely open, and he reclines against the cave wall. He seems to gain a bit of alertness when I step inside, though. His breathing is still shallow, gasping for air like I did after the Mutt attack, and I know he is in agony. I kneel next to him. "Edward, Edward, it's okay," I tell him. "I'm going to get you through this, I promise."

"But—"

"I'm getting you through this. No matter what it takes."

"Yes," he tells me. I narrow my eyes.

"What?"

"Yes," he says again, a slight smile playing on his face. "Just because I can't read your mind doesn't mean I can't read you. I was answering your unspoken question. The answer is yes." He pauses, catching his ragged breath. "We can die from these sorts of things." He rolls his eyes at some unheard joke. "And it's a lot more painful than a normal death." Then Edward sighs.

"No," I snap, too forcefully.

"What?"

_"Your _unspoken question. I'm not going to leave you. I _won't _do that, I promise. We're allies. We're a team, we're from the same District, we are _literal _soul mates, and we're meant for each other. And... and holy crow, Edward, we're _Cullens. _Whatever else we are, we're family, and I'm not going to let you down."

"Promise?" he whispers.

"I promise." He leans in for a kiss, but I smoothly dodge out of the way. This isn't for him, it's for the Capitol. We _need _a blood supply from sponsors, if there are any. If I'm going to get him through this, we should play this card for all it's worth. And that means tension.

"What?" he says, disappointed.

Still acting and hoping my lying skills have improved, I tell him, "I'm just worried."

"About what?"

I smile slightly. "Afraid, I guess. Afraid I'm going to lose you."

_Plop. _I hear the parachute hit the ground outside. Our first sponsor gift. For a moment I hope that it's medicine, but I catch the scent soon enough. From through the vines, I can see the ruby-red wine bottle. I grab it and rush back to Edward. The label reads _"condensed blood." _It's the same variety that I found in the restaurant, not the disgusting kind they served us back at the Tribute tower. I check the back, and it says it contains several weeks worth for a healthy vampire. I smile at it, but Edward is frowning.

"That's _human _blood," he notes.

"I'm fairly certain it came out of a machine," I tell him, twisting out the cork.

"Trust me," he says. "It's human."

"Well, where would they get human blood?" I counter. He glowers at me. _"Oh," _I respond in a tiny voice. I know that the Capitol kills people for fun, but... not like this.

"I don't know either," he admits. "But that isn't synthesized."

"Maybe they were holding out on us," I tell him. "Maybe they've made synthesized blood that tastes better."

He shrugs, and the cork finally comes out with a satisfying _pop! _It takes all of the restraint I have not to drink the bottle dry, and yet even more to hand it over to him willingly. I see him swallow as he forces himself to push it away. "No, Bella," he says weakly. "I don't want it."

"Yes, you do," I encourage.

"It's _human blood,_ Bella, I haven't had it in..."

"A long time." I force a smile, but it's like molten lead is being poured down my throat. "Indulge yourself. You're sick."

"I thought you were supposed to eat and drink _healthy _things when you're sick," Edward grumbles.

"Well, this is healthy. It also tastes good. And yes, humans eat junk when they're sick. Doctors give out lollipops at their offices."

_"Hypocrites."_

"True," I admit. "Fine. If you don't want it, well... think of it as medicine. Disgusting... thick... salty... red... metallic-tasting medicine."

He half-chuckles. "Congratulations. You are a newborn vampire, and you almost managed to make blood sound unappealing."

"Edward. I'm not taking you hunting. Not like this. So... unless you want to..." I can't think of rhetoric good enough. "It isn't like you're killing someone, and there _is no _animal blood around, and it isn't really human anyways, so... please?"

Reluctantly, he sighs, taking the bottle. I urge him to take a sip, and, finally, he does. Afterwards he needs very little encouragement, though he still sips it slowly. It takes six swallows for a little rim of color to form on the outer edge of his iris. And, to my horror, that color is red. I can't help but flinch, and he looks up when I do. I shake my head and, after about ten minutes, he's drained a fourth of the bottle. His eyes are a rich crimson. I bite my lip, half surprised when my teeth don't pierce the skin. His eyes meet mine, and I catch him looking in the mirror of my pupil.

"This is part of the reason why I didn't want the bottle," Edward tells me with a sigh.

"Do you feel better now?" I inquire. He forces a stiff nod. "You're still in pain." Again, he nods. "May I take a look?"

_"No," _he emphasizes, eyes wide.

"So... the blood didn't help."

"It... I think it made it worse."

"Why would it get worse?"

"Maybe it's healing."

"Okay, well, we're learning as we go. I really need to take a look."

Edward swallows and edges away from the cave wall. I peer behind him cautiously. The clotted venom is pooling in disturbing amounts, and a small bit of blood has mixed with it, making it turn a nauseating shade of pinkish white, like pus. The stench of seared venom is acrid, and, mixed with blood, it smells like festering birthday cake. But I must admit, aside from the pus and the venom and the clots of hardened ash, it does look better. There is a little more color— color that is quickly draining away. Before I turn away, I force a smile. "It looks better," I promise Edward. "Pain means healing, remember?"

"Does it?" he asks slowly.

"Well, it does in humans. Usually... let's just pretend it's getting better, whether it is or not, okay?"

He nods, also slowly. "Does that mean that you don't think it's getting better?" Edward questions unhurriedly.

I swallow. "It's fine. You're... you're going to be fine." I smile at him, and he blinks. Then he blinks _again._ He blinks a few more times, and it takes me a few minutes to recognize the symptoms.

"Vampires... vampires don't get tired," I counter. But he looks undeniably exhausted.

"Tell that to my eyelids."

I laugh a little at that, but not much. Not enough. After a few seconds of silence, I tell him, "I _wish _we could sleep." I sigh.

"Why?" he asks. I shrug.

"I guess I just miss dreaming. It made me feel safe."

"Even when they were nightmares?" he drawls.

I nod. "Even when they were nightmares. I always knew I could just wake up and I'd be right there." I pause. "In your arms." Haymitch must love that. "And it was even better, because when things got bad, I could just pretend that I would wake up from the nightmare. Immediately... but... I can't believe that anymore. I never sleep. Not ever. Which means that this, all of this... it has to be real."

"Does it?" he questions sleepily. He closes his eyes, and I'm still shocked by their color when he opens them again. "I used to fantasize that... that everything after I caught the spanish influenza was just a... hallucination from the illness. Some sort of twisted and violent nightmare. That I'm in a coma." Lazily, he brushes a lock of hair over my ear. "But I never pretend that anymore."

"Really?" I whisper. The wind rustles the vine camouflage, letting ribbons of sunlight drift into the cave. Even with my new vision, it is easier to see with this amount of brightness. Edward's smile is blinding in the light, the tendrils gleaming off of him like a mirror. I can watch as the sun moves steadily. The shadows from the green vines move slowly, exposing more and more of his gleaming skin to the rays.

"You're my whole world, Bella." I would have blushed, embarrassed, but I can't. "I'm sorry, that sounds cliché, doesn't it?" He sighs.

"It would sound horrible if I didn't you were telling the truth. But you've told me that a thousand times." My smile fades. "And you've only broken that promise once."

"I thought... I thought I was protecting you."

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Edward... sometimes I wish you would stop idealizing me, though," I admit. The breeze fades and clouds pass overhead, a hole in the sun.

"And sometimes I wish you would stop putting yourself down. You're more amazing than you give yourself credit for."

"What have _I _ever done that's 'amazing?'"

"You've saved my life. Five times now. Considering how much trouble I was in all of those times, and considering that you were human for two of those... I'd say that's amazing. And you are either the stupidest or most selfless person I have ever met."

"Selflessness is a great way to get yourself killed."

"So are bravery, truthfulness, and compassion. But that doesn't mean that they're bad things. If you hadn't been selfless, I wouldn't be alive."

"I'm not selfless. You saw what I did to Jacob."

"We all—" He cries out again. "We all make mistakes. Some mistakes are just different than others... the real question, Bella, is why on earth would you love me?"

"You're brave, you've saved my life more times than I can count, you play the most beautiful music... and that crooked grin you give whenever you're really happy about something—"

"It is not crooked!"

"Oh, yes it is. And I wasn't finished. You're selfless, too. You're always so passionate about the things that matter. And the things that honestly don't matter... you may not be perfect, Edward. But you are perfect for me."

He pauses, for a minute, then grins. The same one that I absolutely love. "Are you sure it doesn't have something to do with the hair?"

I laugh at that, and my favorite smile widens. I finally relax, leaning against the cave wall. Another gust of wind blows the vines apart. It's almost like the air is capable of moving light. My own movement kicks up dust, and it glints with undeniable beauty in the sun. "No," I tell him. "It has absolutely nothing to do with the hair." It's slightly charred, anyway. Curiously, I bring my hand up to my own head. No longer brown, on the edges. It has blackened, and the tips turn to ash in my hands. It is much shorter than it was. I wonder if Cinna will still be able to braid it when I get back to the Capitol. _If I get back to the Capitol._

But what if we do? What will they do with us? Let us free, change us back? What will the family think of us? What will the Capitol do to my family? They obviously know that we are vampires. Volunteering was pointless. Alice would have been fine— oh. No, she wouldn't have.

"What are you thinking?"

"Huh?"

"What—"

"No, I heard you, but... why?"

"I just wanted to know. I still can't read your thoughts, remember?"

"I'm thinking... I'm thinking how glad I am that I volunteered. Can you imagine Alice? Going up against all of those newborns?"

"... She survived the fight."

"But alone. Without Jasper."

He closes his eyes. "I don't even want to think about it." Then he looks back at me. "What else?" he questions.

I shake my head. Edward sighs and turns away. There is a long moment of silence. Something finally occurs to me. "How long have we been here?" Of course, I could learn the answer myself. It's been a little over a week, I believe. He responds the same, and I only nod, too distracted for anything else.

Weakly, he wraps his arm around me, and we stay this way until nightfall. He mutters something about how we can't see the stars, makes a few more attempts at conversation... and then I kiss him hard.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter should be up within the next few days. I know where I'm taking it from here. We have about... three chapters left in the Games and then a couple of "surprise" chapters. Prepare for a couple of "surprises." One obvious plot twist and one not terribly obvious plot twist... and then you get to meet my OC. *cue manic laughter*


	19. The Lie

A/N: I'm so sorry, I completely lost my inspiration for this story. It has been two months since I updated. I thought my muse was gone. And I'm sorry to all of you who thought this was an update... you're completely right! :p I am not going to abandon this. _At all. _I'm not even taking a break; I already took one. I have a lot more inspiration for the sequel to this. I made the mistake of planning the plot arc of everything _except _what happens in the Games, and I've kinda ended up with a big mess.

But it _is_ The Writer Games. It's supposed to be messy.

* * *

_The __**Lie**_

* * *

There are two faces in the sky tonight. The two girls who I assume were allies. Very much like Rue, they died fighting not an enemy that is tangible, but the Capitol. Remembering the way they died is painful. It reminds me too much of Edward. He nearly died like that.

I am huddled in the corner by the wall, watching him drift into something not unlike sleep. His eyes are unseeing and barely open, and the weak rise and fall of his chest is the only indication that he is alive at all. There is nothing more I can do for him. Tomorrow I will risk a trip back to the river to rinse out the ash and the venom.

I have finally made the connection between vampire scents and venom, and it horrifies me. From the smallest details, like our perfect skin, to the largest parts of our nature, like our faces and, yes, sparkling, everything about us is meant to draw humans in. Venom is supposed to smell sweet and flowery, nice enough to lure in prey. His is acrid, like it's rotten or infected.

Still, it leaves me with more questions than answers. Are the completely white and dry patches forming on his arms related to this? Is healthy venom necessary for our survival? Is a good supply of blood in our system? The majority of everything he drank is lying wasted on the floor and his eyes are already black. Are those cracks going to slowly tear him apart? And then there is the most important question of all.

Is Edward going to die?

I have absolutely no idea. I have absolutely no control over it. There is nothing I can do but sit back and wait. At the moment, I am only waiting for him to stir. Once he does, we will discuss our options. Obviously, he is in no condition to fight. But to move? To fall back further and further into the forest? The same strategy that could be our saving grace could also be our downfall.

But I will not— I _shall not— _leave him. I will not even consider it, not in our darkest hour. I would die without him, quite literally. Even if I did survive, I would live in depression forever. I would never feel or love again. Even with the support of my broken family and possibly the Movement, I could not recover from the ridden guilt. It would destroy me. It would, completely and totally, destroy me. Then again, I will likely be facing post-traumatic stress and survivor's guilt for the rest of my life anyway

No.

* * *

He finally stirs at dawn. It isn't a slow wakening, as it is in humans. Instead he snaps awake, disoriented and panting for breath. "Bella?" he asks, sounding worried.

I'm by his side in an instant when I realize that he's crying. "I'm here, I'm here, it's okay..." My own voice cracks. "It's okay. You're going to be okay. You're going... going to be more than okay; you're going to be wonderful." I press myself as close as I can without hurting him.

"I think..." Edward sighs. "I think I had a nightmare."

"Is that possible?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I wish Jasper was here." He looks away. Seeing him in pain, such sheer sadness, is unfamiliar. It frightens me more than the physical agony he faced in the forest. Bringing his eyes back to mine, he whispers, "And I wish Esme was here." His mother, of course he would want her. "And Alice. And _everyone..."_ Edward trails off, completely lost.

"I think I wish that, too." And Mom, and Charlie. And even _Jacob... _"I wish we were home. But we aren't. We aren't. And I swear to you, Edward, I will do the best I can with what we have."

He laughs mirthlessly. "Sometimes I wish you would leave. For your own good, more than anything. I won't leave you, I... I don't want to hurt you. But I'll hurt you more if we're together."

"I honestly thought you had learned _that _lesson. I thought it hurt you, too." I regret the words as soon as they escape my lips. I should stop bringing it into our conversations.

Edward flinches. He swallows the pain. "I'm already hurt, Bella."

"You are hurt, but not broken. And even if you were, I would do everything in my power to fix you." _And there's nothing in my power that can fix you. _The unspoken words hover between us like a fissure. Emotions seep out into the air uncontrollably, unconstrained by words, communicated between us silently. The quiet lasts until I have bled out completely.

It's funny: in all of this time that I have spent with vampires and as a vampire, I never thought it was possible to feel this... drained.

"What are we going to do?" he asks quietly.

"To wait. We're going to wait."

"For what?"

"For a miracle."

* * *

At noon, it begins to rain.

It is not a quiet _tink tink _of raindrops and puddles of water that pool on the floor, it is a _thump Thump THUMP _of hail and furious water. The rain falls in sheets, the water so thick that it is difficult to see. The wind whistles and the storm blows in. The water is hot, almost acidic, but there are no ill effects as of yet.

It would be risky to return to the river. This area is small, and the whirlwinds have brought the scents of Cato and Clove and even the strangers— Thresh and the redhead— to my flaring nostrils. I bring Edward into the rain to clean the wounds again. The hail isn't _uncomfortable _per say, but it is more like prickling feathers than like silken ones of air or the velvet of grass and even rock. I have a feeling, however, that this is a precursor to another disaster. _Tink... tink... tink... THUMP. _

I use the heavy rain to scrub away the ash and infected venom. Occasionally I touch a tender spot, attempt to scrub away charred skin rather than ash, and when I do he bites back a scream. The thunderous wind drones away all sound before anyone can hear it. I can't help but notice that the cracks are spreading. The area around the original injury is slowly drying and turning a sickening color of off-white. Even with the wall of denial I have erected around me, I know that Edward is dying. Edward is dying and there is nothing I can do about it.

Afterwards, I take him back into the cave. It isn't long afterwards that I am resisting the urge to break down into tears. The silence is heavy and the rain outside is even heavier. The only thing that separates one painful second from the next are the varying sounds of rain and hail.

"Bella?" he asks, a few indeterminate hours or minutes later.

"Hm?" My voice is broken and monotone. At least I can barely hear the pain.

"Is there anything that I don't know about you?" He laughs humorlessly. "I just... if I'm going to die, I want to spend my last amount of time with you. But we already know everything about each other."

I scoot a little bit closer to him. "At this point, I think you know more about me than I do about you. I hate to admit it, Edward, but I've already forgotten so much of my life as a human." _And I don't want to forget my time with you. I don't care how much it hurts when you're gone, but I don't want to forget you at all. Not those times. Not a second of it._

"Would you like me to tell you about some of it?" Edward suggests softly. "I remember."Taking a deep breath, I nod.

"Which story would you like to hear?" he queries. My mind whirls backwards, through the itchy dim curtain that veils my human life.

"Tell me about when we first met."

Slightly hurt, he asks, "You don't remember that at all?.. it was your first day at Forks High School. You walked into the biology class, and, well, you were human then, and you—"

"I remember that," I respond. "I couldn't forget _that— _ever." I shake my head. "Not ever. When we really first met. You came back, after a week of hunting in Denali, and you spoke to me for the first time... what... what did you say to me? I'm sorry, I can't believe I don't remember. I think I was paying too much attention to the... well, the hair."

He laughs softly so as not to hurt himself. It is a welcome sound. I have noticed that he is laughing more when something is decidedly not funny. Perhaps because it hurts. I glance down, feeling guilty.

"'Hello,'" he quotes in his musical, dazzling voice. I look back up at him, and he looks so much like he did that first day. His eyes are still that sickly, murky black, but, well, the _hair _is exactly the same— dripping wet. It is disheveled in a way that makes him look like it is done on purpose... and with hair gel. "'My name is Edward Cullen,'" he continues. "Then your heart-rate sped up and I barely kept myself under control. But I continued, 'I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan.' You looked confused.

'How do you know my name?' It was a stammer. As you said, you must have been looking at the hair." His laugh, this time genuine, is soft and enchanting.

"'Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive,' I answered. You grimaced and asked me why I knew you would like to be called Bella. If you're wondering now, it's because I had read the thoughts and heard the conversations. Then Mr. Banner started class. We had to identify slides as Prophase, Anaphase, and Interphase... we were finished before everyone else. You noticed that my eyes weren't black, and you asked if I had gotten contacts. I told you no, and started worrying about protecting the secret. You told me about how you hated cold and wet places. Which is, oddly enough, exactly what Forks is... and you told me about why you had come to Forks. Phil."

"Phil?" There was a long, uncomfortable moment.

"...Your... stepfather," Edward replies, confused. My mind refuses to cooperate. He must have been important, if he had to do with my meeting Edward. And yet... he's simply... gone. To my memory, I have one stepfather. And his name was nothing like 'Phil.'

"I don't remember him. At all." I sigh. I could remember him, if I had a picture or something else. Anything else. But I don't. He will only fade farther and farther away from my memory until nothing remains. "Do all vampires go through this?"

"Yes," he answers. "It's one of the many reasons that I wish you were still human."

I shake my head. "Right now? When you're unbearably thirsty but blood isn't going to help? I'm not so sure that would be a wonderful idea."

"True. Back to the story?"

"No, tell me another one." I hear the anthem beginning.

"Which one do you want to hear this time?"

"I... I know this is much more recent, but I don't remember the details. Tell me how we first came to Panem?" My voice is so quick and quiet that I know that even the Capitol audio equipment won't catch it.

Edward's expression darkens. "You told me that you were doing your best to block that memory, once." His voice matches my volume and speed.

"That must be why I don't remember it at all now." I do remember some of it. Most of it is hazy and almost painfully uncomfortable.

"Are you sure you want to know?" he whispers.

"Yes," I answer. "I am certain. I am absolutely certain."

He sighs, closes his eyes, attempts to compose himself. He looks at me intently and begins to tell the story.

* * *

_"It began with an agency known as Crossbar. They had created a substance, a disease, really, that could wipe out every life-form on the planet in forty-eight hours if not contained properly. They wanted to sell it to anyone who would do harm. They had both a cure and the money. If it spread— and it would spread further than any enemies wanted it to, that was part of the plan— Crossbar would have both the money and the cure."_

_"Carlisle wasn't—"_

_"No! No, of course not. Carlisle worked for Watermark. Watermark was a multi-government agency established to find and eliminate Crossbar. They had enlisted the brightest and the best doctors on the face of the planet and informed them about the impending threat. Truth be told, it was exactly what he had always wanted to do. He was literally saving the world. At first, he and I kept it a secret. But I told you, Alice saw and told Jasper, Carlisle couldn't keep it from Esme, Renesmee couldn't keep it from Jacob, and somehow it slipped to Rose and Emmett. You really can't keep a secret in our family._

_"Watermark knew exactly what we were, though, and they used it to their advantage. We could work hours that no one else could. Eventually we found a cure— after you had become infected and we had to find the cure or turn you. But when Crossbar found out what we had done, that now their master plan was useless, they knew they had to take us out of the equation. _

_"They had technology that even the Capitol would call magic. Don't ask me where they got it, either. Time travel, parallel universes, astral projection, vampires, werewolves, reanimation, telepathy, telekinesis, prophecy, pyro-kinesis... they worked with the 'supernatural' side of science. Or, at the very least, it was considered supernatural in those days._

_"An hour after Carlisle and I had transferred the cure to Watermark, Crossbar sent what is now known as a temporal bomb. "_

_"A what? A 'temporal bomb?' And what? It ruptured the space-time continuum? What is this, Star Trek?" _

_"... yes. Exactly. Well, no, this isn't Star Trek, but it sent us hurtling far into the future. Almost seven hundred years to be exact. It was my fault, really. See, the device had already locked onto us, so there was no point in trying to move it far away from us. It wouldn't matter, as long as we stayed in this solar system. I was trying to disarm it. See, the device was sending us seventy years into the past. _

_"Crossbar didn't know that we were vampires, and that way we shouldn't have survived to the present time again. But, if that had happened... if they had thrown us into the past, we would be able to continue living where we were. Eventually. I would have turned you, and decades later you could see Charlie and Jacob and Renee again. _

_"But I had to be stupid and try to disarm it. Instead, I changed the temporal coordinates by accident..." The anthem ends. "Seven hundred years in the future," he says. "All because of me." _

* * *

I laugh awkwardly, trying to throw the Capitol off of our trail. "That's a great story, Edward."

The sound of the trumpets startles me. In flash, I race to the mouth of the cave. Claudius Templesmith begins his oration. "Hello, my friends. I would like to begin by, hmm, inviting you to a feast. Now hold on. Many of you are likely declining this offer. And you're right. We cannot offer live people." He laughs to himself. "But you're also wrong. Many of you need something. Desperately."

Shaking with anticipation, I listen even more intently. Chemicals can heal these wounds.

"Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the... hm... at the river at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. You know this will be your last chance," finishes Claudius.

I hear a groan of pain, and then Edward is by my side, leaning against the wall to support himself as he stands. He grips my shoulder. "No," he insists. "Bella, you are _not _risking your life for me."

"I have before and I will again."

"You are _not going," _he growls.

"You do not control me, Edward, especially not when it comes to something like this!" I hiss.

"You're running straight into a free-for-all against Cato, Clove, Thresh, and Foxface? Please, Bella, don't be stupid," he says. "You'd get yourself killed! I know you're trying to be selfless, but that would be the most selfish decision you could ever make. Where would I be? Where would I be if you didn't come home? I'm already going to die. Don't make our family lose both of us."

"And you!" I point my finger. "Don't play the guilt card. I _am _going, and you can't stop me."

"Well, I could follow you. I wouldn't make it to the river, but if I'm yelling your name, someone will find me. And then I will definitely be dead," he says.

"You can hardly even stand," I snarl back at him.

"Then I'll drag myself."

"Stop manipulating me."

"I'm manipulating you to save your life! You would do the same thing in my position. You _have _done the same thing in my position!"

"Nothing I have ever done is _that _reckless," I counter, folding my arms. A small portion of me is glad to see him active.

"You slit your wrist in front of a newborn, a nomad who wanted to kill you, and the vampire who very nearly killed you and an entire classroom of witnesses when he first met you," he growls. "I'd say that's fairly reckless."

"So what do you expect me to do, Edward? Watch you die? I can't do that. I don't care how justified it is, I can't do it!" I say, now holding back tears that can never come. This is not an option._ He_ may love me until his final hour, but the audience would loathe me and _I_ would sink below the suicidal marker by about twenty-thousand leagues.

"I promise I won't die. I promise. But only if you look me in the eye and tell me that you won't go," he says.

"You can't guarantee that you won't die."

"Well," he says. "That's the thing about death. No one can predict it. But I won't die tomorrow."

"Okay," I say. "But you have to do what I say. I want you to keep drinking this bottle."

"My body will just let it go right out," he mutters. "What's the point?"

In one blazing moment, the pieces snap together perfectly. I am certain that he sees the blinding lightbulb flickering above my head.

"What?" asks Edward.

I snatch the bottle of blood. A wave of torturous fire ripples down my throat. I am beyond caring. "Edward, that's it!" I exclaim.

"What's it?"

"The blood. Remember how it has a slight taste of chemicals?" I ask, excited.

"Yes..." Edward's confused expression only adds fuel to my irrevocable smile.

"What if your body is sending it out that way for a reason? The vampire body is designed for survival. It isn't going to do something idiotic like wasting blood while it's injured. The injury needs the blood, but in a different way. It needs it for the chemicals," I emphasize. "But it was already slightly processed. The chemicals had already been wasted. But if I were to just rub it on your back like medicine..."

I see the moment he realizes it, too. Edward smiles. "I underestimate you. You are... you are absolutely brilliant." He turns around slowly, and I help to support him.

Taking one last breath, I pop off the cork. I rip off a piece of what is left of my shirt. Trying not to fall to pieces, I pour the blood onto the cloth. The trickle is absolute agony. Wincing, I force myself to recall the Mutts in the forest. No, that was unbelievable pain. This is manageable compared to that form of torture. With encouragement from Edward and every ounce of strength I have, I manage to press it to the savaged portions of his injuries and begin to rub. It all turns a hideous color of red. Still in anguish, I repeat the process until the bottle is half-empty.

Afterwards, all I can do is wait. Edward seems very "sleepy" again. I am already doubting everything I know about vampires when I touch his hand and it feels lukewarm. Is it even possible for vampires to become feverish? No, probably not. But I know for a fact that I am not imagining this.

I walk to the mouth of the cave and to keep watch. I don't need to, I suppose, but something about it is comforting. Edward's breathing falls into a pattern similar to sleep. Then he shudders awake again. He won't let me leave. He won't drift off far enough for that.

Even if the weak chemicals in the blood can slow down what is happening to him, I doubt they will be able to stop it. He's going to die in a day or two, and then the cracks will tear him apart and he'll be gone. And I'll be alone.

I'm so lost in thought that the parachute startles me. Another sponsor gift? So soon? It floats downwards in my direction and I snatch it from the air. I tear off the silver fabric to retrieve what is inside. A vial of something. Perhaps medicine, perhaps deadly chemicals to humans... whatever it is, I gasp. Maybe Haymitch hasn't abandoned us yet. Because he's done it! I don't know how, this must be very expensive— maybe he convinced the hopeless romantics to give up the money—but I can save Edward! A shiver runs through me when I realize that the vial is too small. Perhaps it is condensed, but I don't know what good it will do. For a moment, I am doubtful. I unscrew it and take a whiff. Incredibly potent, likely modified to work with vampires, but the memory of this scent is so powerful that it pierces through the thick veil of my human blindness. It's cheap as far as medicine goes and easy to acquire without raising any suspicion from the Capitol. I put a drop on my tongue to be sure. The taste is sweet, even to me. There is no doubt. This is sleeping medicine. Edward had Carlisle knock me out for about a day while my depression was so severe that I hadn't slept in a week. But what good will it do for a vampire? Maybe it will put us in the drowsy, sleep-like state that Edward is in, only forcefully and more deeply. Or maybe they've figured out a way to actually put us to sleep. I don't think anything would surprise me anymore.

More importantly, what good will it do for me? A vial of normal chemistry and potency would knock a human out for about a day. I shake my head, barely restraining a snarl. This seems like a cruel joke. I need to heal him, not put him to sleep. Who's the bratty dead sparkling spirit-drinking rodent now, Haymitch? Huh?

I'm so furious that I nearly crack open the little vial. Then I realize it. A day? That's more than I need. I screw the cap back on tightly. I can barely smell it. I'm certain it will go undetected. Smiling to myself, I retreat into the cave. Edward is drifting in and out of consciousness. "Are you okay, Edward?" I ask. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Not at all," he answers after a pause.

I feel strangely guilty. _I am doing this to save his life._ "Well, I want you to drink some more. Okay? I think it will help."

"You don't want to apply more?"

In response, my hand flies to my throat instinctively. This is not a lie at all. The idea does burn. "This is easier," I whisper. I take the bottle and slip the entire bottle in while my back is turned. I hand it over to him and he takes a sip.

"It's very sweet," he notes.

"Maybe that's a good sign?" It comes out as a question. But he only needs a few more sips. "I don't think it tasted that sweet to you earlier."

"It... was a little metallic. I thought that was from the chemicals," says Edward. "But it tastes better now. Still not as good as, well, actual blood."

Fire burns down my throat as I swallow. The flames dissolve into a rock in the pit of my stomach. _Just this once, _I tell myself. _Just this once I need to lie to him. _"It smells wonderful to me," I comment. "I wish I could have some." He takes another sip.

"Do you want any? It will probably be better for you, anyway," he mumbles.

I press my lips together. I can't have any of the sleep syrup. I can't have any of it. But the blood itself... there is no decision, my hands try to take it. Horrified, I back away from him, shaking my head. "No, no, I can't have any, it's for you," I stammer out.

His eyes narrow. "Of course you can. You haven't hunted for days..."

"Oh, it's for you, I'm fine. Please drink it, Edward."

He takes another gulp of it. "It's very sweet," he says, still drinking. "I'm not even going to complain about it, Bella. I really don't care if you want some. It tastes like syrup, you'd love it." He takes the last few sips, draining the bottle. "Syrup," he realizes. His eyes widen. I clamp my hand over his mouth to make sure that he can't spit it out. He groans and struggles for a few seconds, but I am far stronger than him. Edward tries to spit it up, but, even with the syrup, vampire instincts with blood are too strong. Even if he could spit it out, it's too late. He's already losing consciousness. It's too late. As he drifts away I see that, in his eyes, this is unforgivable. I have lied to him. I have also saved his life, but I have also lied to him in the worst way possible.

I take a few steps back from him. "I'm sorry, Edward," I whisper, although I know he can't hear me. "I am so, so sorry."

* * *

A/N: There aren't many chapters left, as I've said before. I continue working on this over the weekened. I should be done soon. :)

On a side note, I am considering changing my username to "Midwinter Sky." I tend to match my usernames to profile pictures, and I have a perfect picture in mind... it's also very, very similar to the one I have right now. Besides which, I'd rather go by "Sky" than "Sun."

~Sky


	20. The Fight

A/N: I'm back. I'm sorry for the two month wait and relatively short chapter. But I'm still back. I thought about posting one of those "updates," to let you guys know that this story is not abandoned, but those seem to be famous last words on this site. I don't have an excuse for being late, other than that I'm not nearly as enthralled by Twilight or the Hunger Games as I used to be. Once you manage to convert your Twilight Fan Best Friend into a Whovian (which I've been trying to do since forever), it's a little difficult to go back to Twilight. In short, my obsessions have moved to other things. Also, I outlined the basic plot of this story, but not what would actually happen in the Games... _that _was a mistake, and one I don't plan to make again.

However, I don't want this story abandoned, so I plan to finish it and finish it strong. Without further ado, Chapter 19: The Fight. It's not much, really. It hasn't been edited, and it's pretty much the same as the chapter it corresponds with in the Hunger Games, but it's a chapter. And it's a start. And I'm back.

* * *

_The __**Fight**_

* * *

The river is close by, easy to reach. The problem is that it is a plain, wind blowing freely across it. In the cave, my scent is somewhat protected. Out there, I have no place to hide. Maybe the Gamemakers are idiots. They collapsed mountains and burned a forest on the same day. But more likely they are geniuses. We have no choice but to fight. And, as exciting as fireballs and mutts are, there is nothing comparable in the mind of the Capitol to tributes fighting each other. And that is exactly what we are going to do.

Nightfall sets in quickly and the moon moves slightly more slowly than normal. I wonder why, but then I remember that the battle will take place at dawn. Why would the Capitol citizens awaken that early?

In the remaining hours before dawn, while the wind is at its lightest and blowing gently in our direction, I do my best to camouflage the entrance to the cave. It almost completely masks the scents inside. Perhaps if I wasn't on such high alert, I wouldn't catch it at all. It doesn't escape my notice that, with the gathered piles of large stones, I am also sealing Edward inside. After a bit of consideration, I make a small tunnel. Maybe if I die in the feast, District 12 can still have a Victor. And my family will still have their brother. It isn't likely, but it's hope, and that's what I need right about now.

With Edward concealed and hidden, I take the time to hunt. There are enough large animals around here to remove the thirst— to some extent, at least. Then I take the bow. How useful could it be, really? A twist of a knob sets the tip on fire. Perhaps it won't be completely useless, assuming it is an enhanced flame. I undo the switch and sheathe an arrow.

My fingers are stable now, lacking human clumsiness — and the grace of an expert archer. I focus on the shaft, envision it moving towards the tree in front of me. I draw back and fire, the arrow almost silent as it slips through the wind. But it misses the tree and hits the one behind it, continuing through the forest until it lodges itself into a boulder with a loud crack. I hear a faint noise, about a mile away. Someone heard the racket and I don't dare try again.

_Why did they destroy the Cornucopia?_ I wonder suddenly. It makes very little sense to pack so much action into the Games; even this fight will be anti-climatic compared to mountains falling.

Breathing slowly and tasting the wind, I move forwards in the direction of the river. No one has come, not yet. A table is set on the river bank, with four empty placemats set out. I duck behind a tree and peer around the trunk, waiting for someone to come. After a few minutes, I hear the low warning call of a mockingjay that I know means a hovercraft is approaching.

When it finally emerges, still somewhat invisible against the sky, four bags drop onto the table— each labeled two, five, eleven, and twelve. The fox-faced girl from District Five appears out of nowhere— no, not out of nowhere, she was hiding in the river— slings the bag over her shoulder, and takes off running. She's out of the clearing before I can completely process what has happened, and no one attacks her. Why didn't I think of that?

Ten seconds later, there's already someone else in the area, the girl from District Two. She's bigger and stronger than I am, and I decide to wait until she takes her own package. But she doesn't show herself, and then the boy from eleven is in the area, too, and I begin to panic. It's as if they're all waiting for me.

I wait for exactly forty-seven more seconds before I make up my mind— better to run for it now than to face two, possibly three, angry vampires. I focus on the task at hand rather than the consequences. I focus on the fact that Edward needs my help. And I focus on the fact that without my clumsiness, I can be very, very fast.

Before I can persuade myself otherwise, I launch myself out from behind the tree and leap at the bag. It's in my hands quickly, but Clove is faster. She sees me and makes a sound suspiciously like a snarl as she lunges for my throat. I recoil out of the way and hit the ground, doing my best to keep the bag and its precious contents out of harm's way. She grabs my arm and grabs my hair. A kick to the stomach sends her flying away from me, and I turn to run.

This time she doessnarl as she leaps at me, tackling me to the ground. I force myself onto my knees and try to throw her off of me. This time she is more cooperative, racing to grab her own bag. At first I think I'm free. But when I whirl around after a clicking sound, she is holding a flamethrower.

_Crap._

I manage to slide under the flames she throws at me, laughing manically, and then I jump out of the way. It's move or die; I can feel the heat already. I move, and then I move again. After a near miss, I take a leap into the river, where she tries to burn me and fails. The water is extraordinarily murky, and I know she can hardly see me. Twelve seconds later, I hear her walking away, sneak a hand out of the water, and trip her into the river. The flamethrower drifts downstream.

Clove tries to go after it, but I'm already after her. I knock her out of the water and back onto the rocks. I might bite her; my fury is reaching, well, _infuriating_ levels. She screams, clawing at me, and wrestles me onto my back. I kick at her, snap at her, and we start rolling, both of us growling madly.

She throws me off of her with impressive strength, sending me flying. I flounder in the air for a moment, but before I land, before I can do _anything, _she has the flamethrower back, is drying it off, and is there to meet me when I finally collapse against and knock over a tree. The animals are still there, and I gasp for breath and panic at the sight of them, but they back away, and then I turn to look at Clove, advancing on me with a murderous expression playing on her features.

I snarl and try to crawl away, jumping to my feet before she can stop me. Then she's on top of me, pinning my shoulders to the ground with her knees and digging her fingernails into me like claws. I expect them to break off, but then I realize that they aren't fingernails— they're something metallic, like artificial claws, and she must have gotten them at the Cornucopia. There's a horrible scratching sound as she breaks through my skin. I don't scream, but my vision washes completely red. I lunge at her, but she holds the flamethrower towards my face. "Please," I whimper before I can stop myself; once the word is out, I regret it, because Clove is laughing and I'm snarling.

_"'Please?'" _she spits, in a childlike voice that I wouldn't have matched to her. "I'm holding a flamethrower to your face, and the only thing you have to say is _'please?' _Pathetic, lover-girl."

I wince at the nickname. I know I shouldn't, but I do. She raises a finger, and I can see the metallic claw attached to it. Clove presses it against the edges of my lips experimentally. I close my eyes, but I can still see the sharp point against my skin like an angry red dot. I feel her breath, and though it should feel warm, it feels icy; I shiver. She laughs.

"Even more pathetic. You've hit an all-time low, even for Seamers like yourself." I'm surprised by the nickname, I've never heard it before. She smirks. "Where's your boyfriend, District Twelve? Still alive?" she asks.

"Oh, Edward's great," I lie, and it sounds even worse out loud. "He's out there hunting Cato right now. We just couldn't hear the cannon over the sound of..." I try to think of something clever, and quickly. "My awesomeness. He'll be here soon. _Edw—"_

She shoves her fist into my windpipe, and I gag, then hold my breath. I'm coughing for a few seconds, and then I look back up at her smiling figure.

"Liar. He'd be here to protect his _precious wittle_ _Bella _if he wasn't nearly dead. What's in your pretty little purse? Medicine for lover boy? Too bad he'll never get it. We're going to win. And you—" she pauses dramatically "—will lose."

She opens her jacket to reveal an impressive set of knives— the sharp, modified kind. She fingers them lovingly for a second, as though they are her pets, and then she selects an almost feminine-looking one with a hooked blade. With her free hand, she cups my face kindly, an innocent smile on her face. "I promised Cato I'd give the audience a good show."

I struggle to unseat her now, but she curls her fingers around my cheek and skin, sinking the claws deep into me. I don't scream. I whimper. She laughs. _Please,_ I try not to say. _Please!_

"Forget it, District Twelve. I'm going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally. What was her name? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I'll go find lover boy— he'll be more fun. Without your little shield trick, I'll be able to make it take a long, long time. I'll strip away his mind first. How does that sound?" Clove asks. "Now, where to start?"

She surveys my face, just like Cinna always did before applying make-up. She takes my chin, digging her fingers in deep, and then tilts me from side to side like I'm a slab of marble and she's deciding what pattern she wants to carve. I snap at her hand when she gets too close. She slams me back into the ground and then tuts, shaking her head. "I think..." she purrs. "I think we'll start with your mouth." I clamp my mouth shut as she traces the blade around my lips.

I take a swallow, again trying to unseat her as she swings around, crawling on top of me. I stare up into the sky instead of her cruel face. The blue of the sky isn't a bad thing to see before you die, is it? "Yes, I don't think your carcass will have a use for lips anymore. Want to blow lover boy one last kiss?" she asks. For once, as my eyes unwillingly find the tip of the blade, I sincerely hope Edward is wrong.

I can feel the end coming, and with it a surge of rage. I spit in her face, and Clove is furious. She digs her claws deeper into me, so far that I feel her fingertips. I cry out again, my eyes rolling so far backwards that my vision blurs and I see a whirl of black and red. "Alright then. Let's get started."

I brace myself for the agony, determined to die with some amount of dignity. But as I feel the tip of the blade cut into my lip, something yanks her off of my body and then she's screaming. I'm stunned for a minute, uncomprehending. Has Edward come to my rescue somehow? Have the Gamemakers sent in another wild animal to add to the fun?

But I then I see Clove dangling off the ground, imprisoned in Thresh's arms, and I gasp. He towers above me, holding my attacker like a rag doll. I stand quickly, backing away instinctively. He flings her to the ground, and I'm too shocked to move. He shouts, "What'd you do to the little girl? You kill her?"

Clove scrambles backwards when he flings her to the ground. "No! No, it wasn't me!"

"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?" Another thought makes him furious. "You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?"

"No! No, I—" She sees his murderous expression and seems to give up negotiations. She glares at him, and he collapses in pain. For a few seconds, she remains there, and my hands reach for my bow. I load an arrow, aim towards her back, and shoot.

Clove screams at the top of her lungs. _"Cato!" _she shrieks. "CATO!" Thresh takes advantage of her unfocused moment. He takes her into his arms like he's embracing her, and he seems to rip her to pieces. The sight makes my stomach lurch. He snatches the flamethrower and burns her. Then he tosses the weapon itself into the inferno before I can even protest. My stomach gives some sort of lurch, my own years of science class telling me _no. _

"Are you crazy?!" I screech. "There's gas in there! It's pressurized! It's going to—" I hear it whistling before I can finish, and then both of us run to the other side of the river. Thresh is unfazed, even as it all goes up in a fiery explosion, as though he knew exactly what would happen. I duck as we're both showered in Clove's remains.

Then Thresh whirls on me, and I can't see a point in running. He's faster, he'll catch me. Maybe he won't condemn me to something slow— but judging by the fire in his eyes, that looks unlikely. "What'd she mean? About Rue being your ally?" he demands.

I see this as my only chance. "I—I—we teamed up. We lured the careers into a trap. I—I— tried to save her, but he was already there. District One," I say.

"And you killed him?"

"Yes. I killed him. And I left her remains in a patch of flowers. Edward and I sang for her." _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Don't bring Edward into this! _"She deserved better," I spit. Despite the rage and the panic, I still manage to feel some amount of pain. "Do it fast, please," I manage.

He sighs, conflicting emotions flickering on his face. "Just this time, I let you go. For Rue. We're even then. No more owed. You understand?"

I nod; shaking my head would be a death sentence.

_"Clove!" _Cato shouts. He must have caught the scent of someone dying. He must have heard the cannons. "Clove!" he shouts again, grief entangled with rage.

"You'd better run now, fire girl," Thresh tells me.

I don't need to be told twice. I start flying as fast as I can towards the tree-line, and I don't pause to turn back. A strange feeling of glee shoots through me, completely unexpected. I have what I need to save Edward. And, for now, that's all that matters.

* * *

I do hope you enjoyed. Remember to review!

- Midwinter Sun


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